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An Illustrated Monthly 

Edited by 


Vol. XXXV. 

Xon&ou : 



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ARTISTS AND BEAUTY. The Opinions of Eminent Painters 280 

Illustrations in Colour from Photographs. 


Selections bv Mr. Arthur Hacker, A.R.A., Mr. Ellis Roberts, Mr. Dudley Hardy, R.I., Mr. James Sant, R.A., 
Sir James l5. Linton, R.I., Mr. Seymour Lucas, R.A., and Mr. G. A. Storey, A.R.A. 


Illustrations in Colour from Photographs. 

BERESFORD, LORD CHARLES. Some Personal Notes by Henry W. Lucy 402 

Illustrations by L. Raven-Hill. 

BILLIARD-TABLE, THE BEST TRICK ON THE. A Symposium of Eminent Players ... 189 

BRIDGE STORIES W. Dalton. 158 

CATKINS John J. Ward. 547 

Illustrated from Original Photographs by the Author. 

CHAMPIONS, THE OLYMPIC. A Comparison between British and Foreign Performances ... 562 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


II.— The Girl and the Plate 3 

III.— The Thinking Machine 123 

Illustrations by Cyrus Cuneo. 

CHOP HOUSE, THE... ... Dorothea Deakin. 497 

Illustrations by C. Fleming Williams. 

COLONEL'S GEM COLLECTION, THE. An Indian Story Emma Brooke. 317 

Illustrations by Lionel Edwards. 

COLOUR IN COSTUME The Hon. Mrs. Fitzroy Stewart. 31 

Illustrations by Val Havers. 

COLOUR-PHOTOGRAPHY, THE NEW ... X. Child Bay ley. 408 

Illustrations Reproduced in Colours Direct from N;.iure. 

COUSINS, THE ... ... IV. B. Maxwell. 428 

Illustrations by Gilbert Holiday. 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by W. Heath Robinson. 

CURIOSITIES 116,236,356,476,596,716 

Illustrations from Photographs, Sketches, and Facsimiles. 

CYNTHIA Mrs. P. Champion de Crespigny. 211 

Illustrations by Gilbert Holiday. 

FIRE, IN LETTERS OF From the French of Gaston Leroux. 668 

Illustrations by J. Macchiati, 


Illustrations by the Author. 

GEOGRAPHY, A LESSON IN George /. Beesley. 466 

Illustrations from Sketches. 

GHOSTS OF THE SEA T. C. Brians. 62 

Illustrations by £. S. Hodgson. 

HOUSE OF ARDEN, THE. A Story for Children ... E. Nesbit. 102, 225, 345, 468, 585, 705 

Illustrations by H. R. Millar. 


XL— Smith, Brown, Jones, and Robinson Qcig i n alfr DEQ 697 

Illustrations from Photographs and Old PrinK 

INDEX. m. 



Illustrations by the Author. 

JET OF WATER, THE LESSON OF A. :Dr. Gustavc Le Bon 233 

Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott and from Diagrams. 

JOHN ADAMS'S LOVE AFFAIR Edward Price. Bell. 459 

Illustrations by A. J. Gough. 

KAISER WILIIELM II /. L. Bashford, M.A. 19 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

LAST HOPE, THE Joseph Keating. 525 

Illustrations by Arthur Twidle. 


Illustrations by Cyrus Cuneo. 

LETTER OF MARK, A Austin Philips. 307 

Illustrations by Arthur Twidlc. 


Illustrations by the Author. 

LIMERICK, THE. Another Adventure of Sam Briggs Richard Marsh. 151 

Illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 

MAN WHO KNEW, THE Margaret Strickland. 260 

Illustrations by Arthur Garratt. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 

MUSICAL" JOKES /. F. Rowbotham, M.A. 27 

Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.I. 

MY AFRICAN JOURNEY Rt. Hon. Winston Spencer Churchill, M.P. 

I. — The Uganda Railway 299 

II.— Around Mount Kenya 3S5 

III.— The Highlands of East Africa 49° 

IV.— The Great Lake 680 

Illustrations from Photographs and a Map. 

"MY PAL DAN" ... Joseph Keating. 395 

Illustrations by Arthur Twidle. 


Illustrations by W. Christian Symons. 

NEW GOVERNESS, THE Mrs. C. N. Williamson. 553 

Illustrations by P. B. Hick ling. 

NOVELS ARE WRITTEN, HOW. A Symposium of Leading Novelists 251 

Illustrations from Facsimiles of MS. and from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs and Old Prints. 


Illustrations by Sydney Seymour Lucas. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations in Colour by Harry Rowntree. 

PICTURE IS COMPOSED, HOW A Charles Gun flier. 533 

Illustrations from Paintings. 


Illustrations by Miss Pamela Colman Smith. 


Illustrated with Puzzles. 


PLANTS, SENSITIVE. W r hy They are Sensitive, and How They Came to be So. mhntf. Ward. 218 
Illustrations from Photographs. * ' W X 

POLAR BEAR, THE CHARACTER OF THE Harlfd /. Shepstone. 325 

Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by Penrhyp Stanlaws, Gilbert Holiday, W. Christian Symons, and Val Havers in Colour, 
and from Photographs in Colour. 

POT OF CAVIARE, THE fs. n :._.| f-^dtthur Conati Doyle. 243 

Illustrations by R. Catoo Woodvillc 






Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations from Diagrams. 


Illustrations by the Author. 


Illustrations by the Author. 

... XIO 

... Henry E. Dudeney. 339 

... Henry E. Dudeney. 455 

. . , Henry E. Dudeney. 580 

. . . Henry E. Dudeney. 696 


Illustrations by Arthur GarratL 

. . Owen Oliver, 53 

Sir John Hare. 363, 514, 615 
... Arthur Morrison. 689 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott and from Photographs and Facsimiles. 


Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.I. 

ROMANCE OF AN "IMMORTAL," THE. Denys Puech— Shepherd and Sculptor. Mary Helen Shaw. 312 

Illustrations from Photographs. 

ROSES OF LOVE, THE ... Winifred Graham. 655 

Illustrations by Popini. 

SALTHAVEN. A Serial Story 

Illustrations by Will Owen. 


Illustrations from Prints and Etching*. 


Illustrations by £. S. Hodgson. 

SHABBY PEOPLE, Some of the Supers in the Drama of London 
Illustrations by B. E. Minns. 


Illustrations by Arthur Gamm. 


Illustrations by A. D. McCormick, R.l. 


Illustrations by Tom Browne, R.I. 


IV.— The Escape of Gershuni from Akatui Prison 

Illustrations by R. Caton Woodville and from Photographs. 


Illustrations from Photographs. 


Illustrations by W. Herbert Dunton. 


Illustrations by Arthur Watts. 


Illustrations by A. J. Gough. 


Illustrations by W. R. S. Stott. 


Illustrations by Fleming Williams and from Old Prints. 


Illustrations by CyTus Cuneo. 

W. W. Jacobs. 38, 196, 330, 415, 570, 639 


7: C. Bridges. 62 

Harold Begbie. 268 

Tom Gallon. 163 

R. E. Vetncde. 540 

Arthur Morrison. 274 

... Jaakoff Prelcoker. 68 
Harold J. Shepstone. 170 

Charles G. D. Roberts. 625 

E. Bland. 179 

FredM. White. 84 

Edward Price Bell. 29 1 

The Hon. Mrs. Fitzroy Stenvart. 640 

Edward Price Bell. 483 




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Original from 

The Strand Magazine. 

Vol. XXXV. 

JANUARY, 1908. 

No. 205 

The Chase of the Golden Plate* 




OW-BENT over the steering- 
wheel, the Burglar sent the 
motorcar scuttling breath- 
lessly along the flat road away 
from Seven Oaks. At the 
first shot he crouched down 
in the seat, dragging the Girl with him ; at 
the second he winced a little and clenched 
his teeth tightly. The car's headlights cut 
a dazzling pathway through the shadows, and 
trees flitted by as a solid wall. The shouts 
of pursuers were left behind, and still the 
Girl clung to his arm. 

" Don't do that!" he commanded, abruptly. 
" You'll make me smash into something." 

" Why, Dick, they shot at us ! " she pro- 
tested, indignantly. 

"Yes, I had some such impression myself/' 
he acquiesced, grimly. 

" Why, they might have killed us ! " the 
Girl went on. 

" It is just barely possible that they had 
some such absurd idea when they shot," 
replied the Burglar. "Suppose you never 
got caught in a pickle like this before ? " 

" I certainly never did," replied the Girl, 

The whir and grind of their car drowned 
other sounds — sounds from behind — but 
from time to time the Burglar looked back, 
and from time to time he let out a new notch 
in the speed regulator. Already the pace was 
terrific, and the Girl bounced up and down 
beside him at each trivial irregularity in the 
road, while she clung frantically to the seat. 

"Is it necessary to go so awfully fast?" 
she gasped at last. 

The wind was beating on her face, her 
mask blew this way and that, the beribboned 

Vol. xxxv. — 1 

by ^OOglC 

sombrero clung frantically to a fast-falling 
strand of ruddy hair. She clutched at the 
hat and saved it, but her hair tumbled down 
about her shoulders, a mass of gold, and 
floated out behind. 

The Burglar took another quick look 
behind ; then his foot went out against the 
speed regulator, and the car fairly leapt with 
suddenly-increased impetus. The regulator 
was in the last notch now, and the car was 
one that had raced at Brooklands. 

" Oh, dear ! " exclaimed the Girl. " Can't 
you go a little slower ? " 

" Ix>ok behind ! " directed the Burglar, 

She glanced back and gave a little cry. 
Two giant eyes stared at her from a few 
hundred yards away as another car swooped 
along in pursuit, and behind this ominously 
glittering pair was still another. 

" They're chasing us, aren't they ? " 

" They are," replied the Burglar, grimly ; 
" but if these tyres hold they haven't got 

a chance. A breakdown would " He 

didn't finish the sentence. There was a 
sinister note in his voice, but the Girl was 
still looking back and did not heed it. To 
her excited imagination it seemed that the 
giant eyes behind were creeping up, and 
a^ain she clutched the Burglar's arm. 

" Don't do that, I say," he commanded. 

"But, Dick, they mustn't catch us— they 

"They won't." 

For a time the Girl silently watched him 
bending over the wheel, and a singular feeling 
of security came to her. Then the car swept 
round a bend in the road, careening perilously, 
and the glaring ^Jj^frWrfp ' os *- 



11 1 never knew you handled a car so well," 
she said, admiringly. 

" I do lots of things people don't know I 
do," he replied. " Are those lights stilllhere ? " 

11 No, thank goodness ! " 

The Burglar touched a lever with his left 
hand, and the whir of the machine became 
less pronounced. After a moment it began 
to slow down. The Girl noticed it, and looked 
at him with new apprehension. 

They ran on for a few hundred feet ; then 
the Burglar set the brake, and after a deal of 
jolting the car stopped. He leaped out and 
ran round behind. As the Girl watched him 
uneasily there came a sudden crash, and the 
car trembled a little. 

" What is it ? " she asked, quickly. 

" I smashed that tail lamp," he answered. 
" They can see it, and it's too easy for them 
to follow." 

He stamped on the shattered fragments in 
the road, then came to the side to climb in 
again, extending his left hand to the Girl. 

" Quick ! give me your hand," he re- 

She did so wonderingly, and he pulled 
himself into the seat beside her with a per- 
ceptible effort. The car shivered, then 
started on again, slowly at first, but gathering 
speed each moment. The Girl was staring 
at her companion curiously, anxiously. 

11 Are you hurt ? " she asked, at last. 

He did not answer at the moment, not 
until the car had regained its former speed 
and was hurtling headlong through the night. 

" My right arm's out of business," he ex- 
plained briefly then. " I got that second 
bullet in the shoulder." 

41 Oh, Dick ! Dick ! " she exclaimed; "and 
you didn't say anything about it. You need 

A sudden rush of sympathy caused her to 
lay her hands again on his left arm. He 
shook them off roughly, with something like 
anger in his manner. 

" Don't do that ! " he commanded for the 
third time. "You'll make me smash the car." 

Startled a good deal, and shocked by the 
violence of his tone, she recoiled dumbly, 
and the car swept on. As before, the 
Burglar looked back from time to time, but 
the lights did not reappear. For a long time 
the Girl was silent, and finally he glanced 
at her. 

" I beg your pardon," he said, humbly. 
" I didn't mean to say it just that way, but — 
but it's true." 

" It's really of no consequence," she replied, 
coldly. " I am sorry— verv sorry." 

Digitized by Google 

11 Thank you," he replied. 

" Perhaps it might be as well for you to 
stop the car and let me get out," she went 
on, after a moment. 

The Burglar either didn't hear or wouldn't 
heed. The dim lights of a small village rose 
up before them, then faded away again ; a 
dog barked lonesomely beside the road. 
The streaming lights of their car revealed a 
tangle of cross roads just ahead, offering a 
definite method of shaking off pursuit. 
Their car swerved widely, and the Burglar's 
attention was centred on the road ahead. 

"Does your arm pain you?" asked the 
Girl at last, timidly. 

"No," he replied, shortly. "It's a sort 
of numbness. I'm afraid I'm losing blood, 

" Hadn't we better go back to the village 
and see a doctor? " 

"Not this evening," he responded, promptly, 
in a tone which she did not understand. " I'll 
stop somewhere soon and bind it up." 

At last, when the village was well behind, 
the car came to a dark little road which 
wandered off aimlessly through a wood, and 
the Burglar slowed down to turn into it. 
Once in the shelter of the overhanging 
branches they proceeded slowly for a hun- 
dred yards or more, finally coming to a 

" We must do it here," he declared. 

He leaped from the car, stumbled, and fell. 
In an instant the Girl was beside him. The 
reflected light from the car showed her dimly 
that he was trying to rise, showed her the 
pallor of his face where the chin below the 
mask was visible. 

" I'm afraid it's pretty bad," he said, 
weakly. Then he fainted. 

The Girl, stooping, raised his head to her 
lap and pressed her lips to his, feverishly, 
time after time. 

" Dick ! Dick ! " she sobbed, and tears fell 
upon the Burglar's sinister mask. 


When the Burglar awoke to consciousness 
he was as near Heaven as any mere man 
ever dares expect to be. He was comfortable 
— quite comfortable— wrapped in a delicious, 
languorous lassitude which forbade him open- 
ing his eyes to realization. 

Gradually the need of action — just what 
action and to what purpose did not occur to 
him — impressed itself on his mind. He raised 
one hand to his face and touched the mask, 
which had been pushed back on his forehead. 
Then he recalled the .masked ball, the shot, 



the chase, the hiding in the wood. He 
opened his eyes with a start. 

" Dick, are you awake ? " asked the Girl, 

He knew the voice, and was content. 

"Yes," he answered} languidly. 

He closed his eyes a^ain, and some strange, 
subtle perfume seemed to envelop him. 
He waited. Warm lips were pressed 
against his own, thrilling him strangely, 
and the (iir) rested a soft cheek against 

"We have been very foolish, Dick,* 
she said, sweetly chiding, 
after a moment "It was 
all my fault for letting you 
expose yourself to danger; 
but I didn't dream of such 
a thing as this happen- 
ing. I shall never forgive 
myself, because ,s 

11 But ■' he began, 


"Not another word 
about it now/' she hurried 

"Good girl!" 

" When you jumped out and fainted I 
jumped out too. I'm afraid I was not very 
clever, but I managed to bind your arm. I 
took my handkerchief and pressed it against 
the wound after ripping your coat ; then I 
bound it there. It stopped the flow of 


on, " We must go very soon. How do 
you feel ? " 

"I'm all right, or will be in a minute/ 1 
he responded, and he made as if to rise, 
" Where is the car ? n 

"Just here, I extinguished the lights and 
managed to stop the engine, for fear those 
horrid people who were after us might notice/' 

Digitized by Cji 


blood ; but Dick, dear, you must 
medical attention as soon as possible." 

The Burglar moved his shoulder a little 
and winced. He started to get on bis feet, 
then dropped back weakly, 

"Say, girlie," he requested, "see if you 
can find the bag in the car there and hand it 
out, J^ei s take a look." 



There was a rustle of skirts in the dark- 
ness, and after a moment a faint muffled clank 
as of one heavy metal striking dully against 

41 Goodness ! " exclaimed the Girl. "It's 
heavy enough. What's in it ? " 

" What's in it ? " repeated the Burglar, and 
he chuckled. " A fortune nearly. It's worth 
being punctured for. Let me see." 

In the darkness he took the bag from her 
hands and fumbled with it a moment. She 
heard the metallic sound again, and then 
several heavy objects were poured out on the 

"A good fourteen pounds of pure gold," 
commented the Burglar. " By George ! I 
have only one match, but well see what it's 

The match was struck, sputtered for a 
moment, then flamed up, and the Girl, stand- 
ing, looked down upon the Burglar on his 
knees beside a heap of gold plate. She 
stared at the glittering mass as if fascinated, 
and her eyes opened wide. 

" Why, Dick, what is that ? " she asked. 

" It's Randolph's plate," responded the 
Burglar, complacently. " I don't know how 
much it's worth but it must be several 
thousands on dead weight." 

11 But how came it in your possession ? " 
the Girl insisted 

"I acquired it by the simple act of — of 
dropping it into a bag and bringing it with 

me. That and you in the same evening " 

He stretched out a hand toward her, but she 
was not there. He chuckled a little as he 
turned and picked up eleven plates, one by 
one, and replaced them in the bag. 

" Nine— ten — eleven," he counted. " What 
luck did you have ? " 

" Dick Herbert, explain to me, please, 
what you are doing with that gold plate.'' 
There was an imperative command in the 

The Burglar paused and rubbed his chin 

" Oh, I'm taking it to have it cleaned," 
he responded, lightly. 

" Cleaned ? Taking it this way at this 
time of the night ? " 

'* Certainly," and he laughed pleasantly. 

11 You mean you — you — you stole it ? " 
The words came with an effort. 

"Well, I'd hardly call it that," remarked 
the Burglar. " That's a harsh word. Still, 
it's in my possession ; it wasn't given to me, 
and I didn't buy it. You may draw your own 

The bag lay beside him, and his left hand 

Digitized by \^OOfilC 

caressed it idly, lovingly. For a long time 
there was silence. 

"What luck did you have?" he asked 

There was a startled gasp, a gurgle, and 
accusing indignation in the girl's low, tense 

" You— you stole it!" 

" Well, if you prefer it that way— yes." 

The Burglar was staring steadily into the 
darkness toward that point whence came the 
voice, but the nigbt was so dense that not a 
trace of the Girl was visible. He laughed 

" It seems to me I was lucky I decided to 
take it at just this time and under these 
circumstances," he went on, tauntingly — 
"lucky for you, I mean. If I hadn't been 
there you would have been caught." 

Again came the startled gasp. 

"What's the matter?" demanded the 
Burglar, sharply, after another silence. "Why 
don't you say something?" 

He was still peering unseeingly into the 
darkness. The bag of gold plate moved 
slightly under his hand. He opened his 
fingers to close them more tightly. It was a 
mistake. The bag was drawn away ; his 
hand grasped — air. 

" Stop that game, now ! " he commanded, 
angrily. " Where are you ? " 

He struggled to his feet. His answer was 
the crackling of a twig to his right. He 
started in that direction, and brought up with 
a bump against the car. He turned, still 
groping blindly, and embraced a tree with 
undignified fervour. To his left he heard 
another slight noise, and ran that way. 
Again he struck an obstacle. Then he began 
to say things, expressive things, burning 
things, from the depths of an impassioned 
soul. The treasure had gone — disappeared 
into the shadows. The Girl was gone. He 
called ; there was no answer. He drew his 
revolver fiercely, as if to fire it, then recon- 
sidered and flung it down angrily. 

" And I thought / had nerve," he declared. 
It was a compliment. 


Extravagantly brilliant the sun popped 
up out of the east — not an unusual occur-' 
rence— and stared unblinkingly down upon a 
country road. There were the usual twitter- 
ing birds and dew-spangled trees and nodding 
wild flowers ; also a dust that was shoe top 
deep. The dawny air stirred lazily, nnd 
rustling leaves sent long, sinuous shadows 
scampering backwards and forwards. 



Looking upon it all without enthusiasm or 
poetic exaltation was a Girl— a pretty Girl — 
a very pretty Girl. She sat on a stone beside 
the yellow roadway, a picture of weariness. 
A rough sack, laden heavily, yet economically 
as to space, wallowed in the dust beside her. 
Her hair was tawny gold and rebellious, 
vagrant strands drooping listlessly about her 
face. A beribboned sombrero lay in her lap, 
supplementing a certain air of dilapidated 
bravado, due in part to a short skirt, heavy 
gloves and boots, a belt with a knife and 

" Oh," she sighed, " I'm so tired and 
hungry, and I knoiv I shall never get any 
where at all." 

But despite the expressed conviction, she 
arose and plodded off through the dust with 
the bag swinging over one shoulder. At last- 
there is an at last to everything— a small house 
appeared from behind a clump of trees. The 
Girl looked with incredulous ey^s. It was 
really a house. Really ! A tiny curl of 
smoke hovered over the chimney. 

" Well, thank goodness, I'm somewhere, 
anyhow," she declared, with her first show of 
enthusiasm. " I can get a cup of coffee or 

She covered the next fifty yards with a new 
spring in her leaden heels and with a new 
and firmer grip on the precious bag. Then 
— she stopped. 

" Gracious ! " and perplexed lines suddenly 
wrinkled her brow. " If I should go in there 
with a pistol and a knife they'd think I was 
a brigand or— or a thief, and I suppose I 
am," she added, as she stopped and rested 
the bag on the ground. " At least, I have 
stolen goods in my possession. Now, what 
shall I say if they ask questions? What am 
1 ? They wouldn't believe me if I told them 
really Short skirt, boots, and gloves. I 
know. I'm a bicyclist. My machine broke 
down, and " 

Whereupon she gingerly removed the 
revolver from her belt and flung it into the 
underbrush- not at all in the direction she 
had intended — and the knife followed to 
keep it company. Having relieved herself of 
these sinister things, she straightened her hat, 
pushed back the rebellious hair, tugged at 
her skirt, and walked bravely up to the little 

An Angel lived there — an Angel in a dizzily 
beflowered wrapper and a crabbed exterior. 
She listened to a rapidly-constructed and 
wholly inconsistent story of a bicycle accident, 
which ended with a plea for a cup of coffee, 
and silently proceeded to prepare it. After 

Digitized by ^OOgle 

the pot was bubbling cheerfully, and eggs 
had been put on, and biscuits thrust into an 
oven to be warmed, the Angel sat down at 
the table opposite the Girl. 

"What have you got in the bag?" the 
Angel asked. 

44 Some — some — just some — stuff," stam- 
mered the Girl, and her face suddenly flushed 

"What kind of stuff?'' 

The Girl looked into the frankly inquisi- 
tive eyes, and was overwhelmed by a sense 
of her own helplessness. Tears started, and 
one pearly drop ran down her perfect nose 
and splashed into the coffee. That was the 
last straw. She leaned forward suddenly 
with her head on her arms and wept. 

" Please — please don't ask questions ! " 
she pleaded. " I'm a poor, foolish, helpless, 
misguided, disillusioned woman." 

" Yes'm," said the Angel. She took up 
the eggs ; then came over and put a kindly 
arm about the Girl's shoulders. "There — 
there," she said, soothingly. " Don't take on 
like that. Drink some coffee and eat a bit, 
and you'll feel better." 

" I have had no sleep at all and no food 
since yesterday, and I've walked miles and 
miles and miles," the Girl rushed on, fever- 
ishly. "It's all because — because— — " She 
stopped suddenly. 

" Eat something," commanded the Angel. 

The Girl obeyed. The coffee was weak 
and muddy and delightful ; the biscuits were 
yellow and lumpy and exquisitely delicious ; 
the eggs were eggs. The Angel sat opposite 
and watched the Girl as she ate. 

She finished the breakfast in silence, and 
leaned back with some measure of returning 
content in her soul. 

" In a hurry ? " asked the Angel. 

" No ; I have no place to go to. What is 
the nearest village or town ! " 

" Watertown ; but you'd better stay and 
rest awhile. You look all washed out." 

" Oh, thank you so much," said the Girl, 
gratefully. " But it would be so much 
trouble for " 

The Angel picked up the bag, shook it 
inquiringly, then started toward the short 
stairs leading up. 

44 Please— please ! " exclaimed the Girl, 
suddenly. " I— I — let me have that, please." 

The Angel relinquished the bag without a 
word. The Girl took it tremblingly : then, 
suddenly dropping it, clasped the Angel in her 
arms and placed upon her unresponsive lips 
a kiss for which a mere man would have 
endangerqtijifjfyfif-iyfif^pfal soul. The Angel 




wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, 
and went on up the stairs, with the Girl 

For a time the Girl lav, with wet eyes, on 
a clean little bed, thinking. Humiliation, 
exhaustion, man's perfidy, disillusionment, 
and the kindness of an utter stranger all 
occupied her until she fell asleep. 

When she awoke the room was quite dark. 
She sat up, a little bewildered at first, then 
she remembered, After a moment she heard 
the voice of the Angel below. It rippled on 
querulously ; then she heard the gruifl* voice 
of a man : — 

M Diamond rings ? " 

The Girl sat up in bed and listened intently. 
Involuntarily her hands were clasped together, 
Her rings were still there. I he Angela voice 
went on for a moment again. 

M Something in a bag?" inquired the mm 

Again the Angel spoke. 

Terror seized upon the Girl ; imagination 
ran riot, and she rose from the bed trembling. 
She groped about the dark little room noise- 
lessly. Every shadow lent her new fears. 
Then from below came the sound of heavy 
footsteps. She listened fearfully. They came 
on toward the stairs, then paused. A match 
was struck, and the stej> sounded on the stairs. 

Digitized by GoOQle 

After a moment there was 
a knock at the door, a pause, 
then another knock, FinalU 
the door was pushed open, 
and a huge figure— the figure 
of a man — appeared, shelter- 
ing a candle with one hand, 
He peered about the room 
as if [>erplexed. 

" Ain't nobody up here,*' 
he called gruffly 
down the stairs. 

There was a 
sound of hurrying 
feet* and the Angel 
entered, her fare 
distorted by the 
flickering candle- 

gracious 1 " she ex- 

"Went away 
without even saying 
thank you," 
grumbled the man. 
He crossed the 
room and closed a 
window, "You 
ain't got no bettet 
sense than a chicken," he told the Angel 
"lake in anybody that comes. 1 * 


If Willie's little brother hadn't had a pain in 
his tummy this story might have gone by 
other and devious ways to a different con- 
clusion. But fortunately he had one, so it 
happened that at precisely 8.47 o'clock of a 
warm evening Willie was racing madly along 
a side street of Watertown, bound to a 
chemist's shop, when he rame face to face 
with a Girl — a pretty Girl --a very pretty 
Girl. She was carrying a bag that clanked 
a little at each step. 

"Oh, little boy ! " she called, * could you 
tell me, please, where a lady unattended 
might get a night's lodging somewhere near 

" Eh ? w gurgled Willie, suspiciously. 

Wearily the Girl repeated it all, and at 
its end Willie giggled It was the mo^t 
exasperating incident of a long series of 
exasperating incidents, and the Girl's grip on 
the bag tightened a little, Willie never knew 
how nearly he came to being hammered to 
death with fourteen pounds of solid gold. 

"Can't you think of an hotel or boarding- 
house near by.?'- the Girl insisted* 




" Dunno," replied Willie. " I'm going to 
the chemist's for a pair o' gorrick." 

The Girl bit her lip, and that act probably 
saved Willie from the dire consequences of 
his unconscious levity, for after a moment 
the Girl laughed aloud. 

" Where is the shop ? " she asked. 

" Round the corner. I'm going." 

" I'll go, too, if you don't mind," the Girl 
said, and she turned and walked beside him. 
Perhaps the shopman would be able to 
illuminate the situation. 

When she entered the chemist's shop she 
walked with a lighter step, and there was the 
trace of a smile about her pretty mouth. A 
shopman, the only attendant, came forward. 

44 I want a pair o' gorrick," Willie 

The Girl smiled, and the shopman, paying 
no attention to the boy, went towards her. 

44 Better attend to him first," she suggested. 
44 It seems urgent." 

The shopman turned to Willie. 

44 Paregoric ? " he inquired. " How 
much ? " 

44 About a quart, I reckin," replied the 
boy. 44 Is that enough ? " 

44 Quite enough," commented the shop- 
man. He disappeared behind the prescription 
screen, and returned after a moment with a 
small phial. The boy took it, handed over 
a coin, and went out whistling. 

44 Now, madam ? " inquired the shopman, 

44 1 only want some information," she re- 
plied. 44 1 was out on my bicycle " — she 
gulped a little — 44 when it broke down, and 
I'll have to stay here overnight, I'm afraid. 
Can you direct me to a quiet hotel or board- 
ing-house where I might stay ? " 

44 Certainly," replied the shopman, briskly. 
44 The Stratford, just a little way up this 
street. Explain the circumstances, and it 
will be all right, I'm sure." 

The Girl smiled at him again and cheer- 
fully went her way, leaving him to dream 
strange dreams. That small boy had been 
a leaven to her drooping spirits. She found 
the Stratford without difficulty, and told the 
usual bicycle lie with a natural growth of 
detail and a burning sense of shame. She 
entered her name as Elizabeth Carlton, and 
was shown to a modest little room. For an 
hour or more she considered the situation in all 
its hideous details, planning her desolate future 
— women like to plan desolate futures ; then 
her eye chanced to fall upon an after- 
noon paper, which, with glaring headlines, 
announced the theft of the Randolph gold 

Vol. xxxv.- % 

plate. She read it. It told, with startling 
detail, things that had and had not happened 
in connection therewith. 

This comprehended in all its horror, she 
promptly arose and hid the bag between the 
mattress and the springs. Soon after she 
extinguished the light and retired, with little 
shivers running up and down all over her. 
She snuggled her head down under the quilt. 
She didn't sleep much— she was still thinking 
— but when she arose next morning her mind 
was made up. 

First she placed the eleven gold plates in 
a heavy cardboard box, then she bound it 
securely with brown paper and twine, and 
addressed it to Steven Randolph, Seven Oaks, 
near Merton. She had sent packages before, 
and knew how to proceed ; therefore, when 
the necessity of writing a name in the upper 
left-hand corner appeared— the sender — she 
wrote in a bold, desperate hand, 44 John 
Smith, Watertown." 

When this was all done to her satisfaction 
she tucked the package under one arm, tried 
to look as if it was not heavy, and sauntered 
downstairs with outward self-possession and 
inward apprehension. She faced the clerk 
cordially, while a singularly distracting smile 
curled her lips. 

44 My bill, please ? " she asked. 

44 Ten shillings, madam," he responded, 

44 1 don't happen to have any money with 
me," she explained, charmingly. 44 Of course, I 
had expected to go back on my bicycle, but, 
since it is broken, perhaps you would be will- 
ing to take this until I return to the city and 
can post a cheque ? " 

She drew a diamond ring from an aristo- 
cratic finger and offered it to the clerk. He 
blushed furiously, and she reproved him for 
it with a cold stare. 

44 It's quite irregular," he explained, 4< but 
of course, under the circumstances, it will be 
all right. It is not necessary for us to keep 
the ring at all if you will give us your address." 

44 1 prefer that you keep it," she insisted, 
firmly, 44 for, besides, I shall have to ask you 
to let me have enough to take me back to 
the city — ten shillings. Of course, it will be 
all right ! " 

It was half an hour before the clerk fully 
awoke. He had given the Girl four real half- 
crowns, and held her ring clasped firmly in 
one hand. She was gone. She might just 
as well have taken the hotel along with her 
so far as any objection from that clerk would 
have been concerned. 

For seWii4istieei;3 she walked on. Finally 






rhnMFTLV Aku^f and mn thf nan f^etwkf^ thf mattkf^ anh tkf si-rikcs* 

her rye Uuis attrarted hv a '* To let '* sign on 
a small house— it was No, 410, High Street 
She walked in through a gate cut in the solid 
wall of stone and strolled up to the house. 
Here she wandered about for a time, inci- 
dentally tearing off the "To let" sign, tht-n 
came flown the path toward the street again, 
Just inside the stone fence she left her 
package, after scribbling the name of I he 
street on it with a pencil* Two half crowns 
lay on the top. She hurried out and along 

Digitized by Google 

the street to a small grocery and post office. 
u Will you please telephone to the carrier 
company to send a van to No, 410, High 
Street, for a package ? " she asked sweetly of 
a heavy -voiced grocer, 

" Certainly, ma'am," he responded, with 

She paused until he had done as she 
requested, then dropped into a confectioner's 
for a cup of coffee* She lingered there for a 
long time, and^he^w^rout to spend the 




greater part of the day wandering up and 
down High Street. At last a van drove 
up, the driver went in, and returned after a 
little while with the package. 

"And, thank goodness, that's off my 
hands," sighed the Girl. " Now Fm going 

Late that Saturday evening Miss Dollie 
Meredith returned to the home of the 
Greytons, and was clasped to the motherly 
bosom of Mrs, Greyton, where she wept 


It was late Sunday afternoon. Hutchinson 
Hatch did not run lightly up the steps of the 
Greyton home and toss his cigar away as he 
rang the bell. He did go up the steps, but 
it was reluctantly, dragging one foot after the 
other, this being an indication rather of his 
mental condition than of physical weariness. 
He did not throw away his cigar as he rang 
the bell, because he wasn't smoking ; but he 
did ring the bell. The maid whom he had 
seen on his previous visit opened the door. 

" Is Mrs. Greyton in ? " he asked, with a 
nod of recognition. 

" N ?' sin " 

" Did Mr. Meredith arrive from Birming- 
ham ? " 

"Yes, sir: last midnight." 

"Ah! Is/kin?" 

" No, sir." 

The reporter's disappointment showed 
clearly in his face. 

" I don't suppose you've heard anything 
further from Miss Meredith ? " he ventured, 

" She's upstairs, sir." 

Anyone who has ever stepped on a tack 
knows just how Hatch felt. He didn't stand 
on the order of being invited in ; he went in. 
Being in, he extracted a plain visiting card 
from his pocket-book with twitching fingers, 
and handed it to the waiting maid. 

" VVhen did she return ? " he asked. 

" Last night, about nine, sir." 

"Where has she been?" 

" I don't know, sir." 

" Kindly hand her my card, and explain to 
her that it is imperative that I should see her 
for a few minutes," the reporter went on. 
" Impress upon her the absolute necessity of 
this. By the way, I suppose you know where 
I come from, eh ? " 

" Police head-quarters ; yes, sir." 

Hatch tried to look like a detective, but 
a gleam of intelligence in his face almost 
betrayed him. 

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"You might intimate as much to Miss 
Meredith," he instructed the maid, calmly. 

After a minute or so the maid reappeared 
to state that Miss Meredith would see 

Hatch received the message gravely, and 
beckoned mysteriously as he sought for a 
coin in his pocket. 

" Have you any idea where Miss Meredith 

"No, sir. She didn't even tell Mrs. 
Greyton or her father." 

" What was her appearance ? " 

" She seemed very tired, sir. and hungry. 
She still wore the masked ball costume." 

The coin changed hands, and Hatch was 
left alone again. There was a long wait, 
then a rustle of skirts, a light step, and Miss 
Dollie Meredith entered. 

" I presume, Miss Meredith," said Hatch, 
solemnly, "that the maid informed you of 
my identity ? " 

"Yes," replied Dollie, weakly. "She said 
you were a detective." 

" Ah ! " exclaimed the reporter, meaningly ; 
" then we understand each other. Now, Miss 
Meredith, will you tell me, please, just where 
you have been ? " 

" No ! " 

The answer was so prompt and so emphatic 
that Hatch was a little disconcerted. He 
cleared his throat and started over again. 

" Will you inform me, then, in the interests 
of justice, where you were on the evening of 
the Randolph ball ? " An ominous threat 
lay behind the words, Hatch hoped she 

" I will not." 

" Why did you disappear? " 

" I will not telV you." 

Hatch paused to readjust himself. He 
was going at things backwards. When next 
he spoke his tone had lost the official ring 
— he talked like a human being. 

" May I ask if you happen to know 
Richard Herbert?" 

The pallor of the girl's face was relieved by 
a delicious sweep of colour. 

" I will not tell you," she answered. 

" And if I say that Mr. Herbert happens 
to be a friend of mine ? " 

" Well, you ought to be ashamed of 

Two distracting blue eyes were staring him 
out of countenance ; two scarlet lips were 
drawn tightly together in reproof of a man 
who boasted such a friendship ; two cheeks 
flamed with indignation that he should have 
mentioned the name. Hatch floundered for 
Original from 



a moment, then cleared his throat and took 
a fresh start. 

** Will you deny that you saw Richard 
Herbert on the evening of the masked ball ? J 

" You will admit that you know the man 
was in Burglar's garb, and that the woman 
was dressed in a Western costume ? " 

" The newspapers say that, yes,' 1 she 
replied, sweetly, 

"You know, too, that 
Richard Herbert went to 
that ball in Burglar's garb, 
and that you went there 
dressed as a Western Girl ? " 
The reporter's tone was 
strictly professional now. 

Dollie stared into the 
stern face of her interro- 
gator, and her courage uo*ed 
away. The colour left her 
face and she wept violently* 
44 1 beg your pardon," 
Hatch expostulated- " I beg 
your pardon. " I didn't 
mean it just that way, 
but " 


« I will not" 

' 4 Will you admit that you saw him ? " 

** I will not." 

14 Do you know that he was wounded ? " 


Now, Hatch had always held a vague theory 
that the easiest way to make a secret known 
was to entrust it to a woman At this point 
he revised his methods, 

u Miss Meredith/ 1 he said, soothingly, after 
a pause, "will you admit or deny that you 
ever heard of the Randolph robbery ? " 

"I will not," she began. Then, " Cer- 
tainly i know of hJ* 

li You know that a man and a woman are 
accused of and sought for the theft ? n 

44 Yes, I know that," 

by Google 

He stopped helplessly, 
and stared at this wonderful 
woman with the red hair. 
Of all things in the world, 
tears were quite the most 

" 1 beg your pardon," he 
repeated, awkwardly. 

Dollie looked up with 
tear-stained, pleading eyes, 
then arose and placed bolh 
her hands on Hatch's arm. 
It was a pitiful, helpless 
sort of a gesture. Hatch 
shuddered with sheer de- 

"I don J t know how you 
found out about il T " she 
said, tremulously, ** but if 
you've come to arrest me, 
I'm ready to go with you/' 

" Arrest you ! " gasped the reporter. 
" Certainly. I'll go and be locked up* 
That's what they do, isn't it ? " she questioned, 

The reporter stared. 

"1 wouldn't arrest you for a million!" he 
stammered, in dire confusion, "It wasn't 
quite that It was — — " 

And five minutes later Hutchinson Hatch 
found himself wandering aimlessly up and 
down the street. 


Dick Herbert lay stretched lazily on a 
couch in his room, with hands pressed to his 
eyes, He had just read the Sunday news- 




papers announcing the mysterious return of 
the Randolph plate, and naturally he had a 
headache. Somewhere in a remote recess of 
his brain mental pyrotechnics were at play ; 
a sort of intellectual pin-wheel spouted 
senseless ideas and suggestions of sense- 
less ideas. 

After a while from below he heard the 
tinkle of a bell, and Blair entered with light 

"Who is it, Blair?" 

" Mr. Hatch, sir." 

" Let him come up." 

Dick arose, snapped on the electric lights, 
and stood blinkingly in the sudden glare. 
When Hatch entered they faced each other 
silently for a moment. There was that in 
the reporter's eyes that interested Dick 
immeasurably ; there was that in Dick's eyes 
that Hatch was trying vainly to fathom, 
Dick relieved a certain vague tension by 
extending his left hand. Hatch shook it 

"Well?" Dick inquired. 

Hatch dropped into a chair and twirled 
his hat. 

44 Heard the news ? " he asked. 

" The return of the gold plate ? Yes," and 
Dick passed a hand across his fevered brow. 
"It makes me dizzy." 

" Heard anything from Miss Meredith ? " 

" No. Why ? " 

"She returned to the Greytons last night." 

" Returned to the " and Dick started 

up suddenly. " Well, there's no reason why 
she shouldn't have," he added. "Do you 
happen to know where she was ? " 

The reporter shook his head. 

" I don't know anything," he said, wearily, 
" except " He paused. 

Dick paced backwards and forwards across 
the room several times, with one hand 
pressed to his forehead. Suddenly he turned 
on his visitor. 

" Except what ? " he demanded. 

41 Except that Miss Meredith, by action and 
word, has convinced me that she either had a 
hand in the disappearance of the Randolph 
plate or else knows who was the cause of its 

Dick glared at him savagely. 

" You know she didn't take the plate ? " he 

" Certainly," replied the reporter. " That's 
what makes it all the more astonishing. I 
talked to her this afternoon, and when I 
finished she seemed to think I had come to 
arrest her, and she wanted to go to jail. 
I nearly fainted," 

Digitized by dOOgle 

Dick glared incredulously, then resumed 
his nervous pacing. 

Suddenly he stopped. 

" Did she mention my name ? " 

" 1 mentioned it. She wouldn't admit 
even that she knew you." 

There was a pause. 

" I don't blame her," Dick remarked, 
enigmatically. "She must think me a cad." 

Another pause. 

44 Well, what about it all ? " Dick went on, 
finally. "The plate has been returned, 
therefore the matter is at an end." 

44 Now look here, Dick," said Hatch. " I 
want to say something, and don't go crazy, 
please, until I finish. I know an awful lot 
about this affair — things the police never will 
know. I haven't printed anything much, for 
obvious reasons." 

Dick looked at him apprehensively. 

44 Go on," he urged. 

44 1 could print things I know," the reporter 
resumed, " swear out a warrant for you in 
connection with the gold plate affair, and 
have you arrested and convicted on your 
own statements, supplemented by those 
of Miss Meredith. Yet remember, please, 
neither your name nor hers has been men- 
tioned as yet." 

Dick took it calmly ; only stared. 

44 Do you believe that I stole the plate ? " 
he asked. 

44 Certainly I do not," replied Hatch, 44 but 
I can prove that you did ; prove it to the 
satisfaction of any jury in the world, and no 
denial of yours would have any effect." 

44 Well ? " asked Dick, after a moment. 

44 Further, I can, on information in my 
possession, swear out a warrant for Miss 
Meredith, prove she was in the car, and 
convict her as your accomplice. Now that's 
a silly state of affairs, isn't it ? " 

44 But, man, you can't believe that she had 
anything to do with it. She's a — a— she's 
not that kind." 

44 1 could take oath that she didn't have 
anything to do with it, but all the same I can 
prove that she did," replied Hatch. " Now 
what I am getting at is this. If the police 
should happen to find out what I know they 
would arrest both of you." 

44 Well, you are decent about it, old man, 
and I appreciate it," said Dick, warmly. 
44 But what can we do ? " 

44 It behoves us — Miss Meredith and you 
and myself— to get the true facts in the case 
all together before you are arrested," said 
the reporter, judicially. " Suppose now, just 
suppose, that we three get together and tell 




each other the truth for a change, the whole 
truth, and see what will happen ? " 

" If I should tell you the truth," said Dick, 
dispassionately, "it would bring everlasting 
disgrace on Miss Meredith, and I should be 
a beast for doing it ; if she told you the 
truth she would unquestionably send me to 
prison for theft." 

" But here " Hatch expostulated. 

"Just a minute," and Dick disappeared 
into another room, leaving the reporter to 
reflect on what he knew. He returned in a 
little while dressed for the street. "Now, 
Hatch," he said, " I'm going to try to get 
to Miss Meredith, but I don't believe she'll 
see me. If she will I may be able to explain 
several things that will clear up this affair 
in your mind, at any rate. If I don't see 

her By the way, did her father arrive 

from Birmingham ? " 

" Ves." 

II Good ! " exclaimed Dick. " I'll see him 
too — make a clean breast of it, and when it's 
all over I'll let you know what happened." 

Hatch went to his office, and threatened 
to kick the office-boy into the waste-basket. 
At just about that moment Mr. Meredith, in 
the Greyton home, was reading a card on 
which appeared the name, " Mr. Richard 
Hamilton Herbert." Having read it, he 
snorted his indignation and went into the 
reception-room. Dick arose to greet him, 
and offered a hand which was promptly 

II I should like to ask you, Mr. Meredith," 
Dick began, with a certain steely coldness in 
his manner, "just why you object to my 
attentions to your daughter Dorothy ? " 

" You know well enough ! " raged the old 

" It is because of the trouble I had at 
Oxford with your son Harry. Well and 
good ; but is that all? Is that to stand for 
ever ? " 

"You proved then that you were not a 
gentleman," declared the old man, savagely. 
" You're a puppy, sir ! " 

" If you didn't happen to be the father of 
the girl I'm in love with, I might forget 
myself," Dick replied, almost cheerfully. 
" Where is your son now ? Is there no way 
I can place myself right in your eyes ? " 

"No!" Mr. Meredith thundered. "An 
apology would only be a confession of your 

Dick was nearly choking, but managed to 
keep his voice down. 

" Does your daughter know anything of 
that affair?" 

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" Certainly not." 

" Where is your son ? " 

" None of your business, sir." 

" I don't suppose there's any doubt in 
your mind of my affection for your 
daughter ? " 

" I suppose you do admire her," snapped 
the old man. " You can't help that, I 
suppose. No one can," he added, naively. 

" And I suppose you know that she loves 
me, in spite of your objections ? " went on 
the young man. 

" Bah ! Bah ! " 

"And that you are breaking her heart by 
your stupid objection to me ? " 

"You — you " sputtered Mr. Meredith. 

Dick was still calm. 

" May I see Miss Meredith now for a few 
minutes? " he went on. 

" She won't see you, sir ! " stormed the 
irate parent. "She told me last night that 
she would never consent to see you again." 

Dick stepped out into the hall and 
beckoned to the maid. 

" Please take my card to Miss Meredith," 
he directed. 

The maid accepted the white square with 
a little uplifting of her brows, and went 
up the stairs. Miss Meredith received it 
languidly, read it, then sat up indignantly. 

" Dick Herbert ! " she exclaimed, incredu- 
lously. " How dare he come here ? It's 
the most audacious thing I ever heard of. 
Certainly I will not see him again under 
any circumstances." She arose and glared 
defiantly at the demure maid. "Tell Mr. 
Herbert," she said, emphatically, " tell him — 
that I'll come down directly." 


Mr. Meredith had stamped out of the 
room angrily, and Dick Herbert was alone 
when Dollie, in regal indignation, swept in. 
The general slant of her ruddy head radiated 
defiance, and a most depressing chilliness 
lay in her blue eyes. Her lips formed a 
scarlet line, and there was a how-dare-you-sir 
tilt to nose and chin. Dick started up 
quicldy at her appearance. 

" Dollie ! " he exclaimed, eagerly. 

" Mr. Herbert," she responded, coldly. 
She sat down primly on the extreme edge of 
a chair. " What is it, please ? " 

Dick was a singularly audacious sort of 
person, but her manner froze him into 
sudden austerity. He regarded her steadily 
for a moment. 

" I have come to explain why " 

Miss Dollie Meredith sniffed. 

Original from 




" I have come to explain," he went on, 
11 why I did not meet you at the Randolph 
masked ball, as we had planned." 

" Why you did not meet me ? " inquired 
Dollie, coldly, with a little surprised move 
ment of her arched brows. " Why you did 
not meet me ? " she repeated. 

" I shall have to ask you to believe that 
under all the circumstances it was absolutely 
impossible," Dick continued, preferring not 
to notice the singular emphasis of her words. 
"Something occurred early that evening 
which — which left me no choice in the 
matter. I can readily understand your 
indignation and humiliation at my failure to 
appear, and I had no way of reaching you 
that evening or since. News of your return 
last night only reached me an hour ago. I 
knew you had disappeared." 

Dollie's blue eyes were opened to the 
widest, and her lips parted a little in 
astonishment. For a moment she sat thus, 
staring at the young man, then she sank 
back into her chair with a little gasp. 

"May I inquire," she asked, after she 
recovered her breath, "the cause of this — 
this levity?" 

"Dollie, dear, I am perfectly serious," 
Dick assured her, earnestly. " I am trying to 
make it plain to you, that's all." 

" Why you did not meet me ? " Dolly 
repeated again. "Why you did not meet 
me? And that's— that's what's the matter 
with everything." 

Whatever surprise or other emotion Dick 
might have felt was admirably repressed. 

" I thought perhaps there was some mis- 
take somewhere," he said, at last. " Now, 
Dollie, listen to me. No ; wait a minute, 
please. I did not go to the Randolph ball. 
You did. You eloped from that ball, as you 
and I had planned, in a motor-car, but not 
with me. You went with some other 
man — the man who really stole the gold 

Dollie opened her mouth to exclaim, then 
shut it suddenly. 

" Now, just a moment, please," pleaded 
Dick. " You spoke to some other man 
under the impression that you were speaking 
to me. For a reason which does not appear 
now he fell in with your plans. Therefore 
you ran away with him— in the car which 
carried the gold plate. What happened after 
that I cannot even surmise. 1 only know 
that you are the mysterious woman who dis- 
appeared with the Burglar." 

Dollie gasped and nearly choked with her 
emotions. A flame of scarlet leaped into 

her face and the glare of the blue eyes was 

" Mr. Herbert," she said, deliberately, at 
last, " I don't know whether you think I am 
a fool or only a child. I know that no 
rational human being can accept that as true. 
I know I left Seven Oaks with you in the 
car ; I know you are the man who stole the 
gold plate ; I know how you received the 
shot in your right shoulder ; and how you 
afterwards fainted from loss of blood. I 
know how I bound up your wound, and — 
and — I know a lot of things else." 

The sudden rush of words left her breath- 
less for an instant. Dick listened quietly. 
He started to say something — to expostulate ; 
but she got a fresh start and hurried on. 

" I recognised you in that silly disguise by 
the cleft in your chin. I called you * Dick/ 
and you answered me. I asked if you had 
received the little casket and you answered 
* Yes.' I left the ball-room as you directed, 
and climbed into the car. I know that horrid 
ride we had, and how I took the gold plate 
in the bag and walked — walked through the 
night until I was exhausted. I know it all — ■ 
how I lied and connived, and told silly stories; 
but I did it all to save you from yourself, and 
now you dare face me with a denial." 

Dollie suddenly burst into tears. Dick 
did not attempt to deny now. There was 
no anger in his face, only a deeply troubled 

" Did your father ever happen to tell you 
why he objects to my attentions to you?'* 
he asked. 

" No ; but I know now," and there was a 
new burst of tears. " It's because — because 
you are a — a — you take things." 

"You will not believe what I tell 
you ? " 

" How can I, when I helped you run away 
with the horrid plate ? " , 

" If I pledge you my word of honour that 
I told you the truth ? " 

" 1 can't believe it, I can't," wailed Dollie, 
desolately. "No one could believe it. I 
never suspected, never dreamed of the possi- 
bility of such a thing even when you lay 
wounded out there in the dark woods. If 
I had I should certainly have never — have 
never — kissed you." 

Dick wheeled suddenly. 

" Kissed me ! " he exclaimed. 

" Yes, you horrid thing," sobbed Dollie. 
" If there had previously been the slightest 
doubt in my mind as to your identity, that 
would have convinced me that it was you, 
because — because — just because ! And, 




besides, if it wasn't you I kissed, you ought 
to have told me." 

Dollie leaned forward suddenly on the arm 
of the chair, with her face hidden in her 
hands. Dick crossed the room softly towards 
her and laid a hand caressingly about her 
shoulders. She shook it off angrily. 

" How dare you, sir ? " she blazed. 

"Dollie, don't you love me? J,J he pleaded. 


lt No ! " was the prompt reply. 

<r But you did love me — once ? " 

"Why— yes, but I— I——" 

" And couldn c you ever love me again?" 

"I — 1 don't ever want to again." 

" But couldn't you ? " 

" If you had only told me the truth instead 
of making such a silly denial/' she blubbered. 
" I don't know why you took the plate, unless 
—unless it is because you— you couldn't help 
it. But you didn't tell me the truth." 

Dick stared down at the ruddy head 
moodily for a moment. Then his manner 
changed, and he dropped on his knees 
beside her. 

" Suppose," he whispered, " suppose I 
should confess that I did take it ? " 

Dollie looked up suddenly with a new 
horror in her face. 

41 Oh, you did do it, then ?" she demanded. 
This was worse than ever. 

14 Suppose I should confess that I did ? " 

"Oh, Dick!" she sobbed. And her 

arms went suddenly around his neck. 

" You are breaking my heart. Why ? 


" Would you be satisfied?" he insisted, 
"What could have caused you to do 
such a thing? M 

The love light glimmered again in her 
blue eyes j the red lips 

" Suppose it had 
been just a freak of 
mine, and I had in- 
tended to— to return 
the plate as has been 
done?" he went 

Dollie stared deeply 
into the eyes upturned 
to hers* 

"Silly boy/ 1 she 
said. Then she kissed 
him. "But you must 
never, never do it 
again.' 5 

" I never will," he 
promised, solemnly. 

Five minutes later 
Dick was leaving the 
house, when he met 
Mr. Meredith in the 

"I'm going to 
marry your daugh- 
ter," he said, quite 

Mr. Meredith raved 
at him as he went down the steps, 


ALONE in her room, with the key turned in 
her lock, Miss Dollie Meredith had a per- 
fectly delightful time. She wept and laughed, 
and sobbed and shuddered ; she was pensive 
and doleful, and happy and melancholy; she 
dreamed dreams of the future, past, and 
present ; she sang foolish little ecstatic songs 
just a few vvards : ' r 6f each — and cried 




copiously. Her father had sent her to her 
room with a stern reprimand, and she smiled 
joyously as she remembered it. 

" After all, it wasn't anything/ 1 she assured 
herself. "It was silly for him to — to take 
the plate, of course ; but it's back now, and 
he told me the truth, and he intended to 
return it, anyway." In her present mood she 
would have justified anything. "And he's 
not a thief or anything. I don't suppose 
father will ever give his consent, so after 
all we'll have to elope, and that will be — 
perfectly delightful." 

After a while Dollie snuggled down in the 
sheets, and lay quite still in the dark until 
sleep overtook her. Silence reigned in the 
house. It was about two o'clock in the 
morning when she sat up suddenly in bed 
with startled eyes. She had heard something 
— or, rather, in her sleep she had had the 
impression of hearing something. She 
listened intently as she peered about. 

Finally she did hear something — some- 
thing tap sharply on the window once. Then 
came silence again. A little frightened chill 
ran all the way down to Dollie's curling pink 
toes. There was a pause, and then again 
came the sharp click on the window, where- 
upon Dollie pattered out of bed in her bare 
feet and ran to the window, which was open 
a few inches. 

With the greatest caution sKe peered out. 
Vaguely skulking in the shadows below she 
made out the figure of a man. As she 
looked it seemed to draw up into a knot, 
then straighten out quickly. Involuntarily 
she dodged. There came another sharp 
click at the window. The man below was 
tossing pebbles against the pane with the 
obvious purpose of attracting her attention. 

" Dick, is that you ? " she called, cautiously. 

" 'Sh-h-h h ! " came the answer. " Here's 
a note for you. Open the window so that 
1 may throw it in." 

" 1 s it really and truly you ? " Dollie insisted. 

" Yes," came the hurried, whispered 
answer. "Quick, someone is coming." 

Dollie threw the sash up and stepped 
back. A whirling white object came through 
and fell noiselessly on the carpet. Dollie 
seized upon it eagerly and ran to the window 
again. Below she saw the retreating figure 
of a man. Other footsteps materialized in a 
bulky policeman who strolled by, seeking 
perhaps a quiet spot in which to sleep. 

With little shivers of excitement Dollie 
closed the window and pulled down the 
blinds, after which she lighted the gas. She 
opened the note eagerly, and sat down upon 

Vol. xxxv.-3 

the floor to read it. Now, a large part of this 
note was extraneous verbiage of a purely 
emotional nature — its vital importance was 
• an outline of a new plan of elopement, to 
take place on Wednesday in time for them to 
catch an American-bound steamer at half- 
past two in the afternoon. 

Dollie read and re-read the crumpled sheet 
many times, and when, finally, its wording had 
been indelibly fixed in her mind she wasted 
an unbelievable number of kisses on it. Of 
course, it was sheer extravagance, but — girls 
are wonderful creatures. 

" He's the dearest thing in the world/' she 
declared, at last. 

She burned the note reluctantly, and 
carefully disposed of the ashes by throwing 
them out of the window, after which sTie 
returned to her bed. On the following 
morning, Monday, Mr. Merecjith, her father, 
glared at his daughter sternly as she demurely 
entered the breakfast-room. He was seek- 
ing to read that which no man has ever 
been able to read— a woman's face. Dollie 
smiled upon him charmingly. 

After breakfast father and daughter had a 
little talk in the sunny corner of the library. 

" I have planned for you and I to return 
to Birmingham next Thursday," he informed 

" Oh, isn't that delightful ? " beamed 

"In view of everything and your broken 
promise to me— the promise not to see 
Herbert again — I think it wisest," he con- 

" Perhaps it is," she mused. 

" Why did you see him ? " he demanded. 

" I consented to see him only to bid him 
good-bye," replied Dollie, demurely, "and to 
make perfectly clear to him my position in 
this matter." 

Oh, woman ! Perfidious, insinct re, loyal, 
charming woman ! All the tangled skeins of 
life are the work of your dainty fingers ! All 
the sins and sorrows are your doing ! 

Mr. Meredith rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 

" You may take it as my wish — my order, 
even," he said, as he cleared his throat, for 
giving orders to Dollie was a dangerous 
experiment, "that you must not attempt to 
communicate in any way with Mr. Herbert 
again— by letter or otherwise." 

" Yes, papa.'' 

" You really do not love him, my dear," he 
ventured, after a pause. " It was only a 
girlish infatuation." 

" I told him yesterday just what I thought 
of him," she replied, truthfully enough. 





And thus the interview ended. 

It was about noon that day when Hutchin- 
son Hatch called on Dirk Herbert 

"Wfell, what did you find out?" he 

"Really, old man," said Dick, kindly, "I 
have decided that there is nothing 1 can say 
to you about the matter. It's a private affair, 
after all." 

11 Yes, I know that, and you know that, 

but the police don't 
know it," commented 
the reporter, grimly. 
u 1 lie police !" and 
)ick smiled. 
** ] )id you see her?" 
Hatch a^ked. 

" Yes ; I saw her and 
her father, too." 

Hatch swore inwardly. 
He saw the one door by 
which he had hoped to 
solve the riddle closing 
an him. 

" Was Miss Meredith 
the girl in the car?" he 
asked, bluntly, 

"Really, I can't 
answer that." 

"Are you the man 
who stole the gold 
plate ? " 

41 1 can't answer that 
either,' 1 replied Dick, 
smilingly. ** Now look 
here, Hatch; 
you're a good 
fellow — I like 
you. It is your 
business to find 
out things, but 
in this particular 
affair I'm going 
to make it my 
business to keep 
you from finding 
out things 1*11 
risk the police side 
of it/' He went 
over and shook 
hands with the 
reporter cordially. 
" Believe me, if I 
told you the 
absolute truth — 
all of it — you 
couldn't print it 
unless — unless I 
was arrested, and I don't intend that that 
shall happen." 

Hatch went away. 

by V 


That night the Randolph gold plate was 
stolen for the second time. Thirty six hours 
later Detective Mai lory arrested Richard 
Herbert with the stolen plate in his posses- 
sion* Dick burst out laughing when the 
detective walked into his room. 
(To fo concluded.) 



The following article is published with the Emperor's sanction, and expresses, to 

a great extent in His Majesty's own words, his views on men and things. It 

is accompanied by a portrait graciously selected and signed by His Majesty himself 

for publication in THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 

IILHELM II., German 
Emperor and King of Prussia, 
is in the forty- ninth year of 
his age, and he has borne 
the sceptre of sovereignty for 
nearly twenty years. He has 
been denounced as a firebrand, the disturber 
of peace, and as a general intriguer, and yet 
he has not drawn the sword since he has 
been on the throne, Meanwhile all the 
Mates of Federal Germany under his imperial 
leadership have increased in wealth, the 
standard of life of every class has been 
raised, and the workpeople toil under better . 
conditions and earn higher wages than when 
he came to the throne, 

On the very afternoon of the day when he 
succeeded his illustrious father — on the 18th 
of June:, 1888 — a message was cabled to an 
American paper to the effect that the young 
Emperor "would die in his boots," so 
strong was the idea amongst some foreign 
publicists at that time that his thirst for war 
and his ambition for martial laurels would 
soon cover Europe with a sea of blood and 
carnage. What is still wanted to make the 
world acquainted with Wilhelm II, is that 
more attention should be paid to his character 
and aims. 

To my personal knowledge the Kaiser is 
not only drawn towards England by natural 
inclination, but he pays great regard to what 
is said and written about him in Great 
Britain. He estimates British opinion and 
criticism of himself next to the good opinion 
of his own subjects ; and I may illustrate this 
by stating that one day, when told that 
people in England held a high opinion of 

him, he drew himself up and said proudly, in 
my hearing, "I hope they have; for I have 
a very high opinion of England, and of Lhe 
English people, " 

When he went down to Highclifife Castle 
he took a whole pile of English newspapers 
and magazines with him to digest at ease, 
that he might see what British '-publicists 
wrote about him while he was at Windsor. 

The Kaiser must be studied alike from his 
private and his public side. In his public 
capacity he poses as Emperor and is serious- - 
his expression appearing almost fierce ; when 
he throws off the rube of majesty he is 
urbane in manner, humorous, frank, and 
communicative to those he converses with, 
and absolutely the reverse of haughty. 

He is a man who has high ideals for his 
personal- guidance. He is fond of studding 
his speeches to his subjects with terse, epi- 
grammatic phrases, which he expects his 
audience will carry away with them j and 
he likes also to collect maxims for his own 
contemplation. The subjoined are taken 
from a series framed and hanging within 
sight of his writing-table at his shooting-box 
at Rominten : — 

" Be strong in pain ; desire not that which 
is unattainable or worthless ; he content with 
the day as it comes ; look for the good in all 
things ; and take pleasure in Nature and in 
men as they are, 

" For a thousand bitter hours console thy- 
self with a single one that is beautiful ; ever 
give heartily and of thy best, even when 
repaid with ingratitude. He who is able to 
learn so to act is a happy, free, and proud 
man, and his lift will always be beautiful. 




"The man who is distrustful commits an 
injustice against others and injures himself. 
It is our duty to consider every man good so 
long as he does not prove to be the contrary. 

"Everything in the world must be as it is; 
and, be it as it may, it is always good in the 
sight of the Creator." 

His Majesty has recently experienced a 
feeling of what may be called irritation alter 
reading in the Press that he has been 
influenced by a secret group referred to as 
a "camarilla." " This is a detestable word," 
he is reported to have said. " So far as I am 
concerned, no 'camarilla' has existed in my 
entourage that has had or could have had an 
influence over me calculated to further private 
aims. I cannot conceive where people have 
got this idea from. I form my opinion 
independently. My independence is un- 
assailable, and I would not abandon my 
independence of judgment and action. I 
indignantly repudiate the idea that I have 
suffered myself to be influenced in matters of 
policy affecting the business and interests of 
the empire or of my kingdom by persons 
whom I have treated as private friends, and 
whose society I have frequented for reasons 
wholly alien to politics. The word * camarilla ' 
is odious and nauseous to me. 1 am 
influenced neither by groups of people nor by 
individuals ; and I have not been cognizant 
of the existence of such groups during the 
whole time I have been on the throne, nor 
do I know of anybody to whom I have 
sacrificed my independence of action or 
judgment for any pretext whatsoever." 

Prince Anton of Hohenzollern, a relative 
of the family, who knew the Kaiser as a boy 
and was fond of him, having a high opinion 
of him, declared that he was sure he would 
become an eminent man, that he would 
give the world cause to talk of him, and that 
he would do much good in his time. Prince 
Wilhelm was the "darling grandchild" of 
Queen Victoria, who saw him for the first 
time at Coburg, when she wrote these words 
in her diary, he being one year and a half old. 
She discovered in his face — " a very dear 
face," as she called it — " Fritz's eyes and 
Vicky's mouth "—that is to say, his father's 
eyes and his mother's mouth. He was to her 
in those days €i such a little love," and she 
maintained her deep affection for him till her 
death. At the age of four he came over for 
the first time to Windsor with his parents in 
order to be present at the wedding of his 
uncle, now King Edward VII., with our 
gracious Queen Alexandra. During the 
nuptial ceremony in St. George's Chapel he 

was confided to the supervision of two of his 
other uncles — Arthur and Leopold — who 
were clad in Scotch tartans and were charged 
to keep him quiet. But whenever they 
attempted to exercise their authority, which 
was pretty often, young Wilhelm bit their 
legs ! Is it possible that he recollected the 
incident when he was at Windsor in November 
last ? He told us English it was like coming 
home when he went to Windsor, for it recalled 
reminiscences of the past, and he is fond of 
recalling the many happy days of childhood 
spent there and at Balmoral. " I have often 
shot grandmamma's stags," he has said, in his 
homely way; "they are different from ours, 
and the browsing is different, but I have had 
very good sport amongst them." 

On the authority of the Kaiser's tutor, 
Professor Hintzpeter, who had him for eleven 
years under his supervision — including those 
anxious experimental years of public school 
life at the Cassel Gymnasium — he was not 
easy to manage, and there was much origi- 
nality in his character. Somewhat timid 
in bearing, reserved, and not prone to 
yield to others, there was an individuality 
about him even during his young years 
which brought him at times in conflict 
with those placed above him — with his 
parents as well. His was an unusually com- 
plicated nature, which made him in many 
respects different from the average type of 
boy. Notwithstanding this, however, his mind 
and body developed successfully under the 
careful supervision of his parents, tutor, and 
masters ; and it redounds to his own special 
credit that he was not only able to pass his 
school examination on leaving the gymnasium 
with sufficient distinction, but that he excelled 
also in swimming, rowing, shooting, riding, 
and in all outdoor sports. Before a few years 
were over he was well acquainted with his 
military duties, as became a scion of the 
Hohenzollerns, and earned as a brilliant 
cavalry officer the approval of so world- 
renowned and exacting an authority as his 
uncle, Prince Freidrich Karl. 

His Majesty's allusions to Windsor and 
Queen Victoria remind me of his determina- 
tion during his revered grandmother's last 
illness to go over to Osborne to attend at her 
bedside and take a final farewell of her. The 
Duke of Connaught was at Berlin, and was 
summoned home, but in the last telegram he 
was particularly requested not to let " Willie " 
come over. The Queen's daughters were 
afraid of disturbing her last moments by 
having so exalted a guest in the sick house ; 

and 'ISii^Sitf^™toi ,,er husband 




»OTll a Pkoio. M 

This Photograph was graciously selected and signed by His Majesty for publication in 


cy v> *J*Jg rv 1 1 M i v FRq T 


linal fr 




to leave home just before his birthday. But 
His Majesty asked to see the telegram for 
himself, and its contents did not hold him 
back. He ordered forthwith a special train, 
and told his uncle, the Duke, that they would 
travel together. We all know how he com- 
forted his relatives at Osborne, and how the 
British nation appreciated his share in their 
mourning in those dark and gloomy days. 

No doubt we may seek in his development 
as a man a continuation of some of the 
peculiarities of his youth. His motives not 
being always easy to follow, Kaiser Wilhelm 
often complains that he is misunderstood. 
He has repeatedly dilated upon this grievance 
in public ; and subjoined is what he has said 
in private : " I can't help it, but people don't 
understand me. I don't want to be a mere 
puppet on the throne. When I succeeded 
my father, and for years afterwards, the older 
people, who had been accustomed to look 
up to Bismarck as the oracle of wisdom, 
continued to refer to him as ' the ruler/ 
Bismarck stood behind my grandfather ; and 
it was generally assumed that whatever Bis- 
marck advised my grandfather endorsed. I 
could not accept such a position. It was 
impossible for me. It was absolutely 
necessary, in the interest of the empire, 
that people should feel that they had a Kaiser 
who was not the Chancellor's puppet, to be 
pulled to the right or left at his will or fancy. 
It was absolutely necessary that they should 
learn that I was Kaiser. I wished them to 
understand that I intended to * govern ' and 
not merely to c reign.' " 

Kaiser Wilhelm is a real authority on naval 
matters, and follows everything published in 
connection w r ith his own and foreign navies. 
One who knows him, and is capable of form- 
ing an opinion, has told me that he knows 
more about the world's navies than any 
German in the service. This is how he has 
spoken of the British Navy : — 

" We shall always follow the lessons of the 
British Navy, and look up to the British Navy 
as our model ; but we can never — e\ en if we 
would — be- strong enough to be a menace 
to Britain. We have no wish to challenge 
Britain's naval supremacy ; but we want to 
have a fleet strong enough to protect our- 
selves if attacked ; to adequately represent 
the .name and power of Germany in foreign 
waters ; and to protect German commerce in 
all parts of the world. My great aim is to 
maintain the peace of the world, not to 
challenge the supremacy of Britain on the 
seas or to make an enemy of Britain. It 
would be folly for us Germans to try i to 

attain to the height of Britain's naval power. 
I cannot comprehend how people can thus 
misunderstand my aims and intentions." 

From the beginning of the eighties diffi- 
culties of various kinds caused friction 
between London and. Berlin. During the 
last years of the first Emperor they were 
engendered by incidents connected with the 
inauguration of Germany's colonial policy; 
but a time of fierce antagonism between 
the two peoples commenced when Kaiser 
Wilhelm dispatched his notorious telegram 
to President Kruger, lasting throughout the 
next few years, and reaching its height during 
the Boer War. The dispatch of this unfortu- 
nate missive was one of those impulsive acts 
which His Majesty most decidedly regretted 
on reflection. It caused an interchange of 
letters between Queen Victoria and himself 
which can leave no possible doubt as to this 
interpretation ; for, although we are not 
acquainted with the exact text of this private 
correspondence, we know that His Majesty 
convinced the Queen that he had no inten- 
tion whatever to cast a slur upon the British 
nation, as had been assumed in Britain, and 
I may state here that I was justified in assert- 
ing this in January, 1896, in a London 
morning paper, for His Majesty had, to my 
knowledge, written concerning this corre- 
spondence: " I have replied to grandmamma's 
letter in a sense that I think will please her." 

Still the feeling of distrust did not abate, 
and it was frequently affirmed in England 
that but for the German Emperor the 
Transvaal War would probably never have 
broken out, and that His Majesty proposed 
an alliance after the outbreak of the war 
directed against England, which was foiled 
by M. Delcass^'s refusal to participate in it. 
Against the repetition of these myths I 
can submit the following. The agitation 
against his person in England has always 
caused the Kaiser considerable pain, for 
he attaches greater weight to criticism from 
England than from any other country. On 
one occasion, when feeling was particularly 
embittered against him, he was discussing 
the whole question with some warmth with 
a private gentleman, whose name I know, 
and he made use of the following remark : 
" I cannot comprehend the ill - feeling 
against me in England. I have acted 
loyally to England. An offer was made to 
Germany simultaneously from two powerful 
sides to take advantage of the situation and 
to interfere in British policy, and I refused 
point - blank. I instantly telegraphed the 
nature of the offer to my uncle." This is the 




^T""— "TO 




fVtmi a J'iwtQ, bg Reichttrd Jr Liudner. Berlin 

JrIK CLAJil). 

form in which these words have been related 
to me, and I believe they represent the 
substance, at all events, o! what the Kaiser 
said. Moreover, I may rtate that during the 
Boer War his officers were strictly prohibited 
from discussing the war with other people in 
any of its political bearings. Most important 
in this connection are the words used 
frequently by the late Empress Frederick 
during the last months of her life : " My 
great comfort amidst the pain I have to 
endure is the consciousness that my son is 


entirely on the side of my native country in 
this war," And a few years before, in 1891, 
when the Kaiser paid his last State visit to 
England, accompanied by the K a i serin, he 
said at the Mansion House : *' Following the 
example of my grandfather and of my never- 
to be-forgotten father, I shall always, as far as 
lies in my power, maintain the historic friend- 
ship between these two nations, which, as 
your Lordship (the Lord Mayor) remarked, 
have so often stood together to protect 
freedom ]afldj |}^tffgr|y, 




7* ,f 


Jfr§M «r /'jki(9. fry HcicHttrd it LUuluer, tttvlin- 

The Kaiser's attitude towards Art has been 
cited as a proof of his claim to mental 
superiority. He makes no such claim ; but 
as an amateur he no doubt worries from time 
to time the painters and sculptors who enjoy 
his patronage. He has his own ideas on Lhe 
subject ; but when he appears in public as 
the patron of art he feels that he is under an 
obligation, qua Kaiser, to show that he is 
interested in art and that lie must speak "as 
Kaiser/' But there is nothing of the "Sic volo, 
sic jubeo" intended thereby. All he desires 
is to let people know what he likes ; and it is 
true that he personally desire* to < i the OI<l 
Masters taken as patterns ; on the other 
hand, he has no wish to offer opposition to 
individual painters. The Kaiser's opposition 

to the extreme seces- 
sionists is based on 
his view — t( I can't 
see anything artistic in 
these things." He is 
not alone — right or 
wrong — in hiscriticism 
of this school ; and if 
he is sometimes 
abrupt in his manner 
towards the extremists, 
it is on the ground 
** I can't comprehend 
your way of represent- 
ing Nature/' Perhaps, 
if he were to summon 
some of the leading 
German painters of 
this school to come 
to explain their 
methods to him, they 
and their colleagues 
would regard his sum- 
mons as a gracious 
act, Under the system 
introduced by Bis- 
marck tier mans had 
become aecu s to m e d 
to look up to that 
statesman in every- 
thing as the universal 
critic. Wilhelm II. 
thought when he 
came to the throne 
that he was the 
" I>andesherr " — the 
Sovereign of the 

M The people/' said 
His Majesty, 4i shall 
know me, and shall 
know what their 
Sovereign thinks and what their Sovereign is. 
I have no personal feelings when I step forward 
as Landesherr ; I merely give my opinion as 
Sovereign of the land. When people bring 
their works to me they want to know my 
verdict as Sovereign. When singers and actors 
perform before me they shall feel that they 
are in the presence of their Kaiser. It is 
no Divine judgment that the people want to 
know; but they assume that their Sovereign's 
opinion should be of value, and when they 
yearn for the Kaiser's opinion they want to 
know that it is a 'massgehende Meinung 1 — 
an authoritative opinion — just as that of 
Bismarck was held to be ' massgebend s - — 
authoritative — rin aJL things," This patri- ' 
archal way of looking at things is alien to 




modern views; but the interest Wilhelm II, 
has shown in the development of the artistic 
education of the nation has contributed to 
progress, if not always on the lines approved 
of and selected by himself. 

Kaiser Wilhelm early took an interest in 
painting, and devoted his own activity in this 
respect to sea subjects and battleships. We 
can read something of his views on art in a 
book published by Professor Saltzmann, the 
naval painter, who always accompanies him 
on his sea voyages. He tells us how Prince 
Wilhelm applied himself with intelligence 
and industry to learn to paint, and how, 
naturally, other duties interfered with this 
work. In rS86 the Prince sent a picture, 
representing the Prinz Adalbert engaged in 
artillery practice off the coast of Japan, to the 
annual Art Exhibition at Berlin. The picture 
was accepted, but withdrawn at the instance 
of Kaiser Wilhelm the Great, who thought 
it undesirable for a prince of the Royal family 
to exhibit publicly. The Professor tells us 
also that the Kaiser often talks when out 
walking about modern art and modern artists, 
and has shown by the purchase of pictures 

has been much encouraged by His Majesty 
in order to make the navy popular. 

As regards literature, Wilhelm II. appears 
to be most interested in philosophy and 
history. He is known to have been much 
taken by Stewart Chamberlain's works. We 
find him taking great pleasure in the society 
of learned men ; but he has little time for 
light literature and apparently little inclina- 
tion also for it. Still, it is said that he takes 
pleasure in Ludwig Ganghofer's novels — a 
South ^German, who takes his models mostly 
from South Germany. " Der hohe Schein " 
is one of them that is said to have delighted 
him very much, and he spent over an hour 
last year in conversation about it when he 
was at Munich. His Majesty follows current 
events very closely in the newspapers, copious 
cuttings from which are laid before him 
every day. And he is well up in naval 
literature. In his study you will always find 
he has his Brassey's " Naval Annual " with 
him as well as his German books j he 
had even taken his u Brassey " with him to 
Wilhelmshohe last summer. 

The musical predilections of the Kaiser 

From ti] 



of this school that he is by no means its 
opponent. It should be noted that the 
German Emperor looks upon art and the 
drama as important factors in the education 
of the people, ** Art should help to educate 
the people ; and it should give the lower 
orders a possibility r after their hard moil and 
toil, to pull themse'ves together again by 
contemplating the ideal 1 * Naval painting 

Vol. x*xv,— 4. 

Digitized by ^OOgle 

centre around Wagner and Italian opera ; His 
Majesty does not care much for the modem 
school of French music, but he loves 
" Tannhauser 71 and the " Meistersinger." 

It is very remarkable that, although the 
English as a nation are not linguists them- 
selves, their language is widespread on the 
Continent of Europe, and the reigning 
families speak it in general like their own, 


- i 



The Kaiser invariably speaks English when 
in the company of Britishers ; but also with 
some of his fellow-Sovereigns* With the 
Czar, for example, he always converses in 
English when they are together. As for his 
English tastes in matters of everyday life, one 
has only to look at the upholstery of his 
private rooms in the Berlin Castle ; and, as 
in many private German families, Pears' soap 
and Bryant and May's matches are to be 
found in the Imperial residences. 

If I had space I could fill sheets with 
anecdotes illustrative of Kaiser Wil helm's 
bonhomie and sense of humour. When in 
a mood for it, he is extremely fascinating and 
entertaining, both in men's and ladies' society. 
There is hardly a personage of rank in English 
society who has been in his company who 
could not endorse this. Always an early 
riser himself, he is very fond of paying matu- 
tinal calls. His business with the Chancellor 
is almost always transacted in the early 



this way. At 
found in bed. 
of these visits. 

very often he looks up an 
Ambassador on his way home — the British 
and Austrian and the last Italian Ambas- 
sador having frequently been honoured in 
times their Excellencies are 
A capital story is told of one 
The Ambassador was in bed> 
not being an early riser, but a night worker. 
Being advised of His Majesty's presence in the 
Embassy he began to take measures for dress- 
ing himself. But 
the Kaiser gave 
him no time, 
in a few bounds 
he was in his 
Excel lency's 
bedroom, the 
Am bas sador 
attired only in 
pyjamas ! The 
Kaiser a after his 
confe re nee, 
called out to his 
aide - de - camp 
below to look 
up to the land- 
ing. "I will 
show you some- 
thing you have 
never seen 
before — a n 
Ambassador in 
pyjamas ! " 

The Kaiser is 
fond of making 


From a Phctoprapkr 

jokes on unfavourable popular conceptions 
of himself, a habit which shows that he is 
well posted in popular gossip, and also that 
the reputation he has of not provoking 
criticism is quite erroneous* An exalted 
personage of our Court will remember the 
Emperor's saying to him whilst they were in the 
midst of a conversation on commonplace 
matters, " How can you be seen talking in 
public to such a dangerous character as I am ?" 
At Wilhelmshohe, when King Edward called 
on the Kaiser on August 14th last, His 
Majesty was very much distressed that his 
uncle had been delayed by a fog at sea j and, 
as chance would have it, he was the victim 
himself, on November nth, of a similar mis- 
fortune. Before leaving Berlin, he said at 
the station, u I hear there is a fog in the 
Channel I hope we shall get to England 
all right.'* When he was regretting the delay 
of the King's arrival at Wilhelmshohe he 
remarked : — 

"Why didn't the King start sooner? He 
could have remained on board his yacht off 
Flushing for the night and have left by train 
early this morning for Wilhelmshohe 1 When 
I go over to England I always start several 
hours sooner than I need start, in case there 
should be any delay owing to fog or bad 
weather." "Your Majesty is so very prac- 
tical ! ?f was the reply ventured* " Well," 
added His Majesty, "you English are sup- 
posed to under- 
stand some- 
thing about the 
sea. We all 
think you do !" 
An impulsive 
nature such as 
that of Kaiser 
Wilhelm can- 
not be devoid 
of faults* 
errare ! " He is 
a man of strong, 
character, who 
thinks for him- 
self, and is es- 
sentially human 
in all he does. 
He should be 
judged as a 
man, As Tenny- 
son says : — 

He is all fault who 
halh nofault at alL 


by Google 

Original from 

By J. F. ROWBOTHAM, M.A., Author of "The History of Music." 


wrote a musical wit to a friend of his, and 
in these terms conveyed an invitation to 
dinner. What is the explanation of it ? 
" One, sharp. Beef and cabbage." His 
friend, who was not behindhand at a joke, 
though by no means so witty as his host, 
replied : — 

gsP-^ of 17 — 

q o 



I will in 

the same hieroglyphic 
Naturally (natural E) 


which reads off by 
"Not a bad feed, 
will be in time." 

The first-mentioned gentleman, who might 
have been termed the Swift of music, when 
asked to write a melody on the fan of a lead- 
ing beauty of his day, had the impudence to 
indite the following : — 






to the 

for a graceful com- 
piece of homage 

which passed for a time 
pliment and a tuneful 
(although the melody suffers in the latter 
part owing to the exigencies of the sense) 
on the part of a favourite composer, till one 
day a friend of the lady's, more officious than 
polite, pointed out to her that the apparently 
innocent melody was, in reality, a stupendous 
musical joke, aimed at the lady's vanity, 
which read off note for note as follows : 
" Your face will fade with age. Be not deaf 
to the adage, I beg." 

A story is current with regard to Count 

by Google 

Marpurg's band in Austro-Hungary, though 
the object of the trick in this case was not 
to play a joke so much as to perpetrate 
a piece of treachery. The conductorship 
of this celebrated band was being com- 
peted for by two rival musicians, Imre Ndgy 
and Franz Ploteny, each of whom was to 
conduct for one day before the count and his 
guests. Imre, who was the inferior musician, 
went through his task with creditable skill. 
But when Ploteny mounted the rostrum to 
conduct a piece of his own composition, the 
result was only a tremendous discord, every 
instrument being out of tune. The whole 
audience were convulsed with laughter, not 
only at the oddness of the sound, but at the 
vexation of the unfortunate composer ; and 
without further delay the count gave the post 
to his rival. It was discovered afterwards that 
Imre had bribed most of the musicians to tune 
their instruments wrongly ; and on this fact 
becoming known the count dismissed him 
and his accomplices, and appointed Ploteny 
conductor of his band. 

A musical joke of a different nature, and 
less offensive to the canons 
of politeness, was played 
by the composer Haydn 
on Mozart* When 
Mozart was in his salad 
days, the spoilt favourite 
of empresses and kings, 
and a very wonderful per- 
former on the pianoforte, 
he openly boasted that 
no composer in Europe 
could write a piece of music which he 
was unable to play at sight. Haydn 
accepted the challenge and placed an 
elaborate manuscript fantasia before the 
young man, who thereupon proceeded to 
toss off page after page upon the piano with 
the greatest ease, exclaiming that Father 
Haydn was out of it altogether, and that he 
might have spared himself the trouble of 
writing so many pages, all of which were 
child's play to him. But a surprise was in 
store for the ardent youth. On coming to 
the last page, which was to bring him his 

Original from 



final triumph, he was thunderstruck to see 
the fantasia end with the crashing chord — 


which required both his hands to be engaged 
at the extreme ends of the keyboard, while 
simultaneously there was a note A in the 
centre of the piano which had to be struck, 
and there was no means of playing it 

"Halloa!" exclaimed Mozart, "there is a 
mistake here. This chord is an impossibility 
on the piano. No player on earth could 

the instrument And placing his hands on 
the keys at the two extremities of the piano 
he bent down his head and played the note 
in the middle with his nase I 

A musical joke of a stupendous nature 
was played upon Handel when he was the 
manager of the King's Theatre in the Hay- 
market It was a constant maxim of the great 
composer, whose sensitive ear abominated 
the tunings up of an orchestra, that all the 
instruments should be placed ready tuned at 
the music-stands, and that the members of 
the orchestra should enter like a troop of 
soldiers, take up their instruments like one 
man, and at the stroke of the baton begin. 
One evening a practical joker contrived to 
have Handel engaged in conversation for 
some minutes behind the scenes, while he 
himself entered the orchestra and quietly 
altered the tunings of all the instruments. 
Nobody was a bit the wiser till the baton was 
raised — and then the crash came- -a crash of 
utter and supreme discord i Handel was 


play it. It is not proper music for the 

"Confess that you have lost your wager," 
said Haydn. 

14 Not at all," cried Mozart, getting furious. 
"It is not proper music for the instrument. 
You yourself who wrote it could not play it." 

" Excuse me," said Haydn, sitting down at 

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exasperated to frenzy. It is on record that 
he seized his wig and flung it at the leader of 
the band, kicked the double bass viols to 
splinters, and demolished the kettledrums, 
with many more amenities of the same 

The composer Haydn, of whom we have 
already told a story, was a confirmed musical 




jester, and wrote a long symphony for the 
express purpose of playing a joke on hand 
and audience alike. These were the days of 
candles and candelabra, and a concert -room 
was generally lighted by a large candelabrum 

the audience, till looking round and finding 
that he was left quite alone he made a hurried 
and ignominious escape amid shrieks of 
laughter from all present. 

Talking of candles and candlesticks re- 

■^^To ■*■ rn r»* w h i * -*- 


of some forty candles in the centre of the 
auditorium, while the orchestra, which other- 
wise would have been plunged in complete 
darkness, was illuminated by a candle being set 
oti each of the music stands, probably twenty 
or thirty in all. Haydn wrote his elaborate 
symphony, and towards the middle of it the 
first flute- player t as it might be, found that 
his part came to an end. He was directed 
by a marginal note at the side of the music to 
blow out his candle and retire. In a minute 
or two the second flute-player found he was 
in a similar condition, and he, too, retired, 
blowing out his candle, Next it was the turn 
of the cornet -player, then of the trumpeter- 
The audience seeing this gradual dispersion 
of the band became filled with uncontrollable 
curiosity to know what would happen next. 
Darker and darker grew the orchestra, fewer 
and fewer became the players ; but those who 
were left still sat fiddling away with great 
diligence — until at last only one man remained, 
who played on desperately amid the mirth of 

by dOOgle 

minds us of a musical joke of Rossini's, 
which nearly cost him his life. At one of 
the opera houses in Italy an opera of his had 
been hissed. En passant we may mention 
that he greeted the hissing with the same 
remark which has been attributed to Sheridan : 
11 Oh ! they have found out, then, what a bad 
piece it was/* But Rossini did not stop 
short at a witticism. He determined to 
punish the audience for their hardihood, 
Accordingly, he wrote an overture for the 
next night, in which the violinists were 
directed at every second bar to tap their 
candlesticks with their bows, This so 
enraged the audience, who took it as a sort 
of personal insult, that they stormed the 
orchestra, broke the benches of the theatre, 
and threatened to kill the composer if 
they caught him— but he was fortunate 
enough to escape, 

Schumann was a pronounced musical 
joker, and, taking for his subject the amuse- 
ments of the Carnival, he wrote an elaborate 
Original from 




piece of music in which he imitates the 
skipping of the harlequin by a run on the 
piano, and then a long jump from one part 
of the keys to the other— with other eccen- 
tricities of this sort. 

Beethoven, in the Moonlight Sonata, has 
played a joke on his hearers in introducing a 
dance of elves and fairies, who trip about the 
keys in all directions in a most fantastic and 
grotesque manner. He said that Shake- 
speare taught him to joke in music, by the 
way in which Shakespeare unites humour and 
pathos in the same piece. In this spirit, in 
the Pastoral Symphony, Beethoven makes 
all the birds of the air chirp out after the 
storm — the cuckoo, the quail, eta You can 
hear them quite distinctly on the instruments. 

Even the grave Bach did not disdain to 
crack a musical joke occasionally, and wrote 
a piece of music called " The Return Home/ 
for the express purpose of imitating the 
cracking of the postilion's whip which 
accompanies the homeward journey. And 
Frederick the Great helped him on one 
occasion to play another musical joke. The 
occasion was the visit of Bach to the monarch 
in his palace of Sans Souci at Potsdam. 
After performing several pieces of music on 
the harpsichord, Bach asked the King to give 
him a theme on which he might extemporize. 
The King made no reply, but taking his flute 
he played these four notes : — 







When we explain that B natural is known 
in German music by the name H, it will be 
at once apparent that these four notes spell 
the name of Bach himself — B A C H ; on 
which theme the composer extemporized 
accordingly. He did not forget it afterwards ; 
for once being in a country district where he 
was a stpawger, and having asked permission 
to play on the church organ, he performed 
on it in such a manner and poured forth such 
floods of masterly music that crowds thronged 
the church to listen. No one knew who the 
extraordinary organist was, and at last he 
was asked to give his name. 


replied Bach on the keys, and executing a 
brilliant extemporization on the theme he 
left the place, and an everlasting tradition 
behind him. 

In conclusion, we cannot do more than 
bestow a passing allusion to the stock 
musical jokes of the Middle Ages, which 
delighted in their day many a monk and 
medieval composer. These were pieces of 
music called canons, so constructed that they 
would read the same backwards or forwards. 
For this reason they were called Crab Canons, 
because, to quote the words of Shakespeare, 
11 like the crab they could walk backwards." 
The following is one of them. If you 
examine it you will find that when you get 
to the end you may begin "to walk back- 
wards," and you will repeat exactly the same 
notes as when " you walked forwards." 

i$gs~a^^ ^g^ 

These Crab Canons are sometimes called 
Everlasting Canons, because you never get 
to the end of them. Directly you reach the 
last note you begin again, going backwards 
this time. When you reach the first note 
you start again, going forwards — and so con- 
tinue, like a crab caught in a net or a lobster 
in a lobster pot, never getting out of the 

Sometimes they were so constructed that 
when you came to the end you had to turn 
the music upside down (as in the following 
example), and, reading it backwards by the 
help of the bass clef, the melody repeated 
itself note for note as before. 





Sometimes they proceeded to greater 
heights of complexity. But here we leave 
them, and musical jokes with them, with the 
remark that while the latter are the most 
innocent form of wit, they require consider- 
able ingenuity to invent them and play them 
off successfully. 

by Google 

Original from 

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ryiWl'/f iJ' • • ■ .>rj. 

■ * ■'■■■■-■ •***,*:, I V/> "^ 


USK1N once said, "Wherever 
men are noble they love bright 
colours," The words of such 
a master carry weighty but 
there seems a spice of the reck- 
less in his assertion. Everyone 
knows that savages are famous for their love 
of crude and vivid colouring : a n egress 
adores scarlet, and glaring tints are the joy 
of the South Sea Islander, On the other 
hand, there is no doubt that all women who 
make history love colour and clothe them- 
selves brilliantly, Cleopatra had a passionate 
craze for colour, and at fifty years old made 
a slave of Mark Antony. Diane de Poic tiers 
was devoted to yellow, and wore it con- 
stantly ; Madame de Pompadour invented 
the happy blending of pale blue and pale 
pink, such as is shown, adapted to a modem 
costume, in the first of the accompanying 
coloured illustrations ; Marie Antoinette was 
responsible for the dainty mixture of palest 
pinks and yellows ; and the ill-starred 
Empress Josephine favoured black and white 
and bright green — a most effective combina- 
tion. And, to come down to modern times, 
the late Queen Draga of Servia had the cult 
of colour, and used it to striking advantage. 
Also some of our cleverest actresses, such as 
Sarah Bernhardt, Rejane, and Mrs. Brown 
P otter, know the science of colour, and 
employ it with much audacity, 

Colour idealizes, arrests, determines; it 
has power for good and ill ; it affects not 
only a woman's looks, but also her health 
and character And there is no study of 
deeper interest. 

It must be admitted that, as a nation, we 
are not good colourists. But the cult of colour 
appeals to the educated classes, and some 
of the best faiseitrs of the day give proof 
that they have studied the art to perfection. 
One of our cleverest designers says that she 
goes straight to Nature for her colourings; 

Digitized by G< 

and certain it is that she can have no better 
instructor. Fruit, flowers, even trees and 
grasses, teach us much, and a feast of tints 
is to be found on the wings of butterflies. 
This dressmaker declares that she often 
walks in Hyde Park to look at the flowers 
and foliage, or makes her way to South 
Kensington to study the butterflies in Lord 
Walsingham's collection at the Victoria and 
Albert Museum. What green can be lovelier 
than that of a larch tree ? What pale blue 
can be more perfect than the blue of the 
plumbago plant or of the La Peyrousse 
hyacinth ? Then no shade of cream can be 
more delicate than that of the frees ia ; the 
mixture of pale pinks and yellows is taught 
us by the tea rose ; a forget-me-not shows the 
blending of blue and mauve ; a peacock's 
outspread tail proves the power of blues and 
greens ; and red and black never look better 
than in the wings of a Red Admiral butterfly. 

We will now take some of the best-known 
shades and see how they should be used in 
matters of costume. 

White is the symbol of innocence, and 
its use at births, deaths, and weddings has 
been sanctified by tradition. But the 
wearing of white in everyday life needs 
much circumspection. The broad rule is 
that it suits the very young and the very 
old, but, all the same, it often proves 
unbecoming to the average dkbutante* In 
order to wear white with success a woman 
must be fair and slim, and — but this is 
rare— own the type of a cold, refined 
loveliness — a type represented in the second 
of the following illustrations. However, 
tastes differ, and the late Mr, Gladstone was 
once heard to declare that every woman, 
no matter what age, always looked her best 
in white satin. Royal ladies who have passed 
their first youth are often to be seen in white 
or cream colour. An example of this fancy 
is afforded by Queen Margherita of Italy ; 
but the story of her series of white gowns 
given by the late King is too old to bear_ 




repetition. The Dowager-Empress of Russia 
and our own Queen Alexandra often wear 
white gowns on the occasion of Court cere- 
monials. And there are several society 
women who, with their white hair and still 
handsome faces, prefer to appear dressed in 
pure white, either in lace, satin, or velvet. 

Black seems evil, and with some people 
produces melancholy. But all the same it 
has its uses, and is in high favour with 
smart Parisiennes. Now, there are certain 
mistakes that seem rooted in the minds 
of everyday Englishwomen. One of these 
is that only fair people ought to wear 
black. In real fact a dark wbman is often 
at her best in black, and a brunette with a 
bright complexion will look magnificent. 
But a black gown to be successful must be in 
many blacks ; it must have lace or jet, and 
lights and shades should be introduced. It 
takes a woman with brains to dress well in 
white or in black. 

Yellow is a splendid shade, and one that is 
both subtle and* mysterious. The Burmese 
— a race that is most cunning in psychic 
matters — make a deep study of its varying 
effects, and use it in all their garments of 
ceremony. But, with us, yellow has been for 
many years greatly and most unjustly despised. 
It is one of the finest of colours, with many 
exquisite shades, and only when too pure is 
it unmanageable. The cold, pale primrose, 
that shines like a light in the hedgerows, may 
be massed about a young face with impunity. 
Apricot is beautiful for some people, and 
ambers of all shades are exceedingly good 
and becoming A fair woman looks well in 
pale yellow and brown, the effect being well 
shown in the third of the following illustra- 
tions; and deep orange suits a brunette. 
A dull tawny shade, once called " buff," is 
also most becoming. Yellow was a favourite 
colour with most of the old masters. Paul 
Veronese had a penchant for a certain yellow 
shot with pink, a tint that is extremely beau- 
tiful. Rubens often put in a mass of deep 
yellow in a garment or curtain with striking 
effect ; and Van Dyck seemed to fancy a rich 
shade, almost the colour of ale, which blends 
in a kindly way with everything. In fact, 
yellow is the "sun colour," is most lucky, 
and suits almost everyone. 

Red is a glorious colour; it gives hope, 
courage, and confidence. Sir Joshua Reynolds 
seems to have revelled in the duller reds. In 
two of his pictures, " The Fortune Tellers " 
and "The Angerstein Children," telling 
touches of this rich, refined red appear both 
in dresses and backgrounds. But these 

Digitized by G* 

shades are vastly different from the scarlet of 
a soldier's coat, from the red cloth frocks 
exploited by certain dressmakers, or even 
from the Royal crimson that was done to 
death in 1902. And the clever dresser fears 
these sultry tints, as the delicate rose in a 
woman's face is only too easy to extinguish. 
But a rich, dull shade makes for success ; 
such, for example, as Indian red, or the deep 
red that is seen in the historic cloak of Little 
Red Riding Hood. The richness of colour 
thus obtainable is strikingly shown in the 
last of our illustrations. Spanish women have 
made a bright red rose in the hair an undying 
fashion, but the effect is usually softened by 
their graceful mantillas. Deep, heavy reds 
were much used in draperies by the old 
Italian masters, especially by Titian. 

Blue has always been a favourite colour 
with nations past and present. It seems 
difficult to account for its popularity. It is 
neither as stately as yellow, as vivid as red, 
nor as soft as grey, green, or violet. Perhaps 
it is because there is not much real blue in 
Nature. There are not many blue birds or 
fishes, insects, or minerals ; and in animals 
and in the human race there may be said 
to be no blue at all. For instance, real 
blue eyes are rare, and the " blue vein " 
which poets love is more than rather 
visionary. Blue flowers are by no means 
common, although amongst them can be 
found such precious blooms as the gentian, 
the harebell, the pale blue scabious, some 
hyacinths, campanulas, delphiniums, and 
forget-me-nots. Blue has always been in 
high favour with spiritualists ; and it is 
needless to point out that Fra Angelico's 
delicate blues — singularly pure and trans- 
parent — are all associated with an intensely 
spiritual atmosphere. And Gainsborough 
had a great liking for this charming shade of 
colour. Blue appears in many of his best 
pictures ; notably in the famous "Blue 
Boy " at Grosvenor House, in l>is portrait 
of Mrs. Siddons, now at the National 
Gallery, and also in his world-renowned 
picture of Georgiana Duchess of Devon- 
shire. But the blues employed by this 
master-hand were utterly unlike our modern 
ultramarine, whether that vivid hue appears 
as bright cornflower or as Royal or 
Alexandra blue. Turquoise-blue is a lovely 
shade, and when craftily used proves most 
becoming. A popular fallacy that should be 
knocked on the head at once is that blue — 
especially a pale tint — suits fair women only, 
and never brunettes. In real truth, a dark 
woman, with a pale olive skin, never looks 

u I I I '.' I I I 




Vl>I. 31KXV. — 5. 







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Original from 












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Original from 



\ Mill lllli] 1 1-n ■ 1 . r « ! n n A HARMONY i>l SIIAIif.S ti\ ];|-|i. 

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better than when dressed in pale blue, or 
with touches of turquoise-blue in a brown 
or black costume* 

From blue to green is a natural transition. 
Green is the " Venus " colour, but many 
vague fancies work against its popularity. 
Dull sage-green reminds one of the aesthetic 
craze of the far-off eighties ; and a bright 
shade of green is apt to be voted unbecoming. 
This is, however, a mistake, as it makes an 
effective colour-note, and is really one of the 
smartest shades in creation. A touch of 
emerald-green looks specially well with black 
and white, and who shall deny the merits of 
a big square emerald, or of a bit of bright 
green enamel ? Green has been worn through 
the ages, and is often mentioned in medieval 
poems as a favourite colour in dress for both 
men and women. The beautiful Rosial in 
" The Court of Love," attributed to Chaucer, 
is robed in a green gown, " light and summer- 
wise, shapen full well," and around her neck 
a string of rubies. 

This may sound a crude mixture, but 
antique colours were pale as a rule, and 
rubies are far from being scarlet. A dull 
yellow-green and dark crimson may be most 
harmonious. Pale green is often pretty, and 
can be mixed with pale blue in a charming 
manner. The dress offered to Enid, " where 
like a shoaling sea the lovely blue played 
into green," was a happy thought of Tenny- 
son's. A word to the wise : One out of two 
colours should always be dull and not too pure ; 
that is a safe rule in colour combination. 
Romney had a great fancy for green ; it 
appears in many of his pictures of Lady 
Hamilton, and also in a charming portrait, 
called "The Parson's Daughter," in the 
National Gallery. 

Mauve is the colour of thought and refine- 
ment, and is the chosen shade of Queen 
Alexandra. She wears it both by day and 
evening, and has been painted in a mauve 
costume. And her liking for amethysts 
proves the same fancy, as an Oriental 
amethyst is a cross between mauve and 

Brown has an unmerited reputation for 
lacking smartness. It is a difficult colour to 
wear, and is at its best with red or auburn 
haired women. But it often looks well at 
night, either in tulle or mousseline, and a 
brown tulle ball-gown once made its mark 
when worn with yellow topazes. 

Grey, like white, if it is to be successful, 
must be worn with due regard to its limita- 
tions. A Parisienne looks well in her Lenten 
tones of grey, and there is a type— a won- 

Vol. *«v.-6. 

drous type — that can wear grey and invest it 
with a wicked demureness which is at once 
attractive. But grey is ill-suited to London 
skies and to our national characteristics. 

Students in the art of colour are well aware 
that the choice of tints depends much upon 
material. And the effect of colour on texture 
and of texture on colour is worth our careful 
consideration. For instance, many artists 
declare that white is at its best in soft 
woollen stuffs, or else in lace, tulle, chiffon, 
or crepe de Chine. The correct treatment 
of black has been already mentioned. Red 
— always a difficult bright colour — should be 
shunned in opaque textures and chosen in 
those that are transparent. A red voile is 
good, a red crepe better, and the shade 
becomes lovable in tulle, chiffon, or mousse- 
line. Then pale blue is sweet in muslin, 
face cloth, or in taffetas (when shot with 
white), and also in gauze and chiffon, but 
should be rigidly avoided in silk, satin, 
tweed, or homespun. Purple, violet, and 
mauve are exacting shades, as they each 
demand the best materials. Violet cloth has 
a hard effect, and a mauve tweed is un- 
speakable. But violet velvet suits a queen, 
and a dress made of mauve crepe de Chine 
may be a poem. Pink has possibilities, and 
in Paris is worn like a livery by brides on 
the occasion of their signing the marriage 

Green is said to be unlucky, but, then, so 
are opals and peacocks' feathers — two of the 
loveliest things in the universe. And green 
has charming varieties. The power of a bit 
of emerald-green has been already mentioned ; 
and a fair woman will look her best in pale 
green crSpe or chiffon. And a green taffetas 
gown is also a happy creation. 

An artist in colour will wear her jewels 
with an eye to colour and material. Sapphire- 
blue tulle makes a good background for 
diamonds. Rubies are at their best worn 
with grey chiffon, and pearls are perfect with 
reseda -green chiffon. Yellow topazes go 
with brown, and pale yellow chiffon makes a 
splendid set-off for amethysts. And once, at 
a Court ball, a grey chiffon frock with silver 
embroideries, and worn with a string of big 
black pearls, made the success of the evening. 

Colour is a serious subject, and the shades 
chosen in dress should be suited not only 
to a woman's appearance, but also to her 
character and circumstances. 

So various are the colours you may try, 
Of which the thirsty wool imbibes the dye ; 
Try every one, what best becomes you wear, 
For no complexion all alike can bear.— Ovid. 



been busy all the afternoon, 
and the clock still indicated 
fifteen minutes short of the 
time at which he had intended 
to leave. He leaned back in 
his chair, and, yielding to the slight rotatory 
movement of that active piece of furniturcj 
indulged in the first twirl for three days. 
Bassett or no Basset t, it was exhilarating, and, 
having gone to the limit in one direction, he 
obtained impetus by a clutch at the table and 
whirled back again. A smothered exclama- 
tion from the door arrested his attention, and 
putting on the break with some suddenness 
he found himself looking into the pretty, 
astonished eyes of Joan Hartley, 

" I beg your pardon," she said, in confu- 
sion. " I thought it was my father" 

" It — it got stuck," said Mr. Vyner, spring- 
ing up and regarding the chair with great 
disfavour " I was trying to loosen it. I shall 
have to send it back, I'm afraid ; it's badly 
made. T h er e J s n o cab i ne t - mak i n g no wa day s, " 
Miss Hartley retreated to the doorway. 
u I am sorry ; I expected to find my father 
here,' 1 she said H It used to be his room*" 
11 Yes, it was his room," said the young 

Copyright, iqo7 h by W. W Jacobs, 


man. " If you will come in and sit down 
I will send for him," 

" It doesn't matter, thank you," said Joan, 
still standing by the door, M If you will tell 
me where his room is now t I will go to him," 

11 He — he is in the general office," said 
Robert Vyner, slowly. 

Miss Hartley bit her lip and her eyes grew 

" Don't go," said Mr. Vyner, eagerly. u I'll 
go and fetch him. He is expecting you," 

"Expecting me?" said the girl. "Why, 
he didn't know I was coming." 

" Perhaps I misunderstood him/' mur- 
mured Mr, Vyner, " Pressure of business," 
he said, vaguely, indicating a pile of papers 
on his table. "Hardly know what people 
do say to me." 

He pushed a comfortable easy-chair to the 
window, and the girl, after a moment's hesita- 
tion, seated herself and became interested in 
the life outside. Robert Vyner, resuming his 
seat, leaned back and gazed at her in frank 

"Nice view down the harbour, isn't it?" 
he said, after a long pause. 

Miss, Hartley agreed — and sat admiring it. 

" Salthaven is a pretty place altogether, I 
think," continued Robert "I was quite 

in ihe United States of America. 




glad to come back to it I like the town 
and I like the people. Except for holidays 
I haven't been in the place since I was 

Miss Hartley, feeling that some comment 
was expected, said, " Indeed ! " 

" You have lived here all your life, I sup- 
pose ? " said the persevering Robert. 

" Practically," said Miss Hartley. 

Mr. Vyner stole a look at her as she sat 
sideways by the window. Conscience and 
his visitor's manner told him that he ought 
to go for her father ; personal inclination told 
him that there was no hurry. For the first 
time in his experience the office became the 
most desirable place in the world. He 
wanted to sit still and look at her, and for 
some time, despite her restlessness, obeyed 
his inclinations. She turned at last to ask 
for her father, and in the fraction of a 
second he was immersed in a bundle of 
papers. Knitted brows and pursed lips 
testified to his absorption. He seized a pen 
and made an endorsement ; looked at it with 
his head on one side and struck it out again. 

" My father ? " said Miss* Hartley, in a 
small but determined voice. 

Mr. Vyner gazed at her in a preoccupied 
fashion. Suddenly his face changed. 

u Good gracious ! yes," he said, springing 
up and going to the door. " How stupid of 
me ! " 

He stepped into the corridor and stood 
reflecting. In some circumstances he could 
be businesslike enough. After reflecting for 
three minutes he came back into the room. 

" He will be in soon," he said, resuming 
his seat. Inwardly he resolved to go and 
fetch him later on — when the conversation 
flagged, for instance. Meantime he took up 
his papers and shook his head over them. 

" I wish I had got your father's head for 
business," he said, ruefully. 

Miss Hartley turned on him a face from 
which all primness had vanished. The 
corners of her mouth broke and her eyes 
grew soft. She smiled at Mr. Vyner, and 
Mr. Vyner, pluming himself upon his ad- 
dress, smiled back. 

" If I knew half as much as he does," he 
continued, " I'd— I'd " 

Miss Hartley waited, her eyes bright with 

" I'd," repeated Mr. Vyner, who had rashly 
embarked on a sentence before he had seen 
the end of it, " have a jolly easy time of it," 
he concluded, breathlessly. 

Miss Hartley surveyed him in pained 
surprise. " I thought rny father worked very 

by L^OOgle 

hard," she said, with a little reproach in her 

"So he does," said the young man, hastily, 
" but he wouldn't if he only had my work to 
do ; that's what I meant. As far as he is 
concerned he works far too hard. He sets an 
example that is a trouble to all of us except 
the office boy. Do you know Basset t ?" 

Miss Hartley smiled. " My father tells 
me he is a very good boy," she said. 

"A treasure!" said Robert. "'Good' 
doesn't describe Bassett. He is the sort of 
boy who would get off a 'bus after paying his 
fare to kick a piece of orange-peel off the 
pavement. He has been nourished on copy- 
book headings and ' Sandford and Merton.' 
Ever read 'Sandford and Merton'?" 
v " I — I tried to once," said Joan. 

" There was no ' trying ' with Bassett," 
said Mr. Vyner, rather severely. " He took 
to it as a duok takes to water. By model- 
ling his life on its teaching he won a silver 
medal for never missing an attendance at 

" Father has seen it," said Joan, with a smile. 

" Even the measles failed to stop him," 
continued Robert. " Day by day, a little 
more flushed than usual, perhaps, he sat in 
his accustomed place until the whole school 
was down with it and had to be closed in 
consequence. Then, and not till then, did 
Bassett feel that he had saved the situation." 

" I don't suppose he knew it, poor boy," 
said Joan. 

" Anyway, he got the medal," said Robert, 
" and he has a row of prizes for good conduct. 
I never had one ; not even a little one. I 
suppose you had a lot ? " 

Miss Hartley maintained a discreet silence. 

" Nobody ever seemed to notice my good 

conduct," continued Mr. Vyner, still bent on 

making conversation. " They always seemed 

to notice the other kind fast enough ; but the 

good ' seemed to escape them." 

He sighed faintly, and glancing at the girl, 
who was looking out of the window again, 
took up his pen and signed his blotting-paper. 

" I suppose you know the view from that 
window pretty well?" he said, putting the 
paper aside with great care. 

" Ever since I was a small girl," said Joan, 
looking round. " I used to come here some- 
times and wait for father. Not so much 
lately ; and now, of course " 

Mr. Vyner looked uncomfortable. " I hope 
you will come to this room whenever you 
want to see him," he said, earnestly. " He 
— he seemed to prefer being in the general 

Original from 




Miss Hartley busied herself with the 
window again. "Seemed to prefer," she 
said, impatiently, under her breath. lt Yes," 

There was a long silence, which Mr, Vyner, 
gazing in mute consternation at the vision of 
indignant prettiness by the window, felt quite 
unable to break. He felt that the time had 
at last arrived at which he might safely fetch 
Mr Hartley without any self-upbraidings 
later on, and was just about to rise when 
the faint tap at the door by which Bassett 
always justified his entrance stopped him, 
and Bassett entered the room with some 
cheques for signature. Despite his habits, 
the youth started slightly as he saw the 
visitor, and then, placing the cheques before 
Mr. Vyner, stood patiently by the table while 
he signed them* 

11 That will do," said the latter, as he 
finished. " Thank you." 

u Thank you, sir," said Bassett, He gave 
a slow glance at the window, and, arranging 
the cheques neatly, turned towards the door. 

"Will Mr, Hartley be long?" inquired 
Joan, turning round. 

"Mr. Hartley, miss?" said Bassett, paus- 
ing, with his hand on the knob* 
" Mr, Hartley left half an hour ago." 

Mr. Vyner, who felt the eyes of 
Miss Hartley fixed 
upon him, re 
sisted by a 
supreme effort the 
impulse to look at 
her in return, 

" Bassett ! w he 
said, sharply. 

"Sir?" said the 

" Didn't you," 
said Mr. Vyner, 
with a fine and 
growing note of 
indignation in his 
voice — "didn't 
you tell Mr. Hart- 
ley that Miss 
Hartley was here 
waiting for him?" 

u No, sir," said 
Bassett, gazing at 
certain mysterious 
workings of the 
junior partner's 
face with undis- 
guised amaze- 
ment, " I " 

4i Do you mean 
to tell me," 

demanded Mr. Vyner, looking at him with 

great significance, " that you forgot ? " 

" No, sir," said Bassett ; " I didn't n 

"That will do," broke in Mr. Vyner, 

imperiously. "That will do. You can go." 
4i But," said the amazed youth, " how could 

I tell- * 

"That — will— do," said Mr, Vyner, very 
distinctly, " I don't want any excuses. You 
can go at once. And the next time you are 
told to deliver a message, please don't forget, 
Now go." 

He rose from his chair and, with a fine 
show of indignation, thrust the gasping 
Bassett from the room, and then turned to 
face the girl 

"I am so sorry," he began. "That stupid 
boy — you see how stupid he is " 

"It doesn't matter, thank you/' said Joan, 
"It — it wasn't very important. 71 

" He doesn't usually forget things/' mur- 
mured Mr, Vyner. (1 1 wish now," he added, 
truthfully, "that I had told Mr- Hartley 

He held the door open for her, and, still 
expressing his regret, accompanied her down- 


xj by Google 





stairs to the door. Miss Hartley, somewhat 
embarrassed, and a prey to suspicions which 
maidenly modesty forbade her to voice, 
listened in silence, 

** Next time you come," said Mr. Vyner, 
pausing just outside the door, i( I hope — " 

Something dropped between them, and fell 
with a little tinkling crash on to the pave- 
ment Mr. Vyner stooped, and, picking up a 
pair of clumsily-fashioned spectacles, looked 
swiftly up at the office window. 

11 Bassett," he said, involuntarily. 

He stood looking at the girl, and trying 
in vain to think of something to say. Miss 
Hartley, w T ith somewhat more colour than 
usual, gave him a little bow and hurried off 

Smiling despite herself as she thought 
over the events of the afternoon, Joan 
Hartley walked thoughtfully homewards, 
Indignation at Mr. Vyner's pre- 
sumption was mingled with regret 
that a young man of undeniably 
good looks and somewhat engaging 
manners should stoop to deceit 
The fact that people are considered 
innocent until proved guilty did not 
concern her. With scarcely any 
hesitation she summed up against 
him, the only thing that troubled 
her being what sentence to inflict, 
and how to inflict it. She wondered 
what excuse he could make for such 
behaviour, and then blushed hotly 
as she thought of the one he would 
probably advance. Confused at her 
own thoughts, she quickened her 
pace, in happy Ignorance of the fact 
that fifty yards behind her Captain 
Trimblett and her father, who had 
witnessed with great surprise her 
leave-taking of Mr. Vyner, were 
regulating their pace by hers, 

" She's a fine girl," said the cap- 
tain, after a silence that had endured 
long enough to be almost embarrass- 
ing, " A fine girl, but " 

He broke off, and completed his 
sentence by a shake of the head, 

" She must have come for me," 
said Hartley, " and he happened to 
be standing there and told her I 
had gone." 

"No doubt/ 1 said the captain, 
dryly. " That's why she went scurry- 
ing off as though she had got a 
train to catch, and he stood there 
all that time looking after her. And, 

besides, every time he sees me, in some odd 
fashion your name crops up." 

11 My name ? " said the other, in surprise. 

"Your name," repeated the captain, 
firmly, "Same as Joan's, ain't it? The 
after-part of it, anyway. That's the attrac- 
tion. Talks all round you — and I talk all 
round you, too, Nobody'd dream you'd 
got a daughter to hear the two of us talk- 
sometimes, Other times, if I bring her 
name in, they'd think you'd got nothing else." 

Mr. Hartley glanced at him uneasily, 
" Perhaps- " he began. 

11 There's no * perhaps ' about it," said the 
masterful captain, " If you're not very 
careful there'll be trouble. You know what 
Mr* John is — he's got big ideas, and the 
youngster is as obstinate as a mule/ 1 

"It's all very well," said Hartley, " but 
how can I be careful ? What can I do ? 
Besides, I dare say you are making mountains 



Original from 




of mole -heaps; she probably hurried off 
thinking to catch me up." 

Captain Trimblett gave a little dry cough. 
" Ask her," he said, impressively. 

u I'm not going to put any such ideas into 
her head," said his friend. 

" Sound her, then," said the captain. 
" This is the way I look at it. We all think 
he is a very nice fellow, don't we ? " 

" He is," said Hartley, decidedly. 

" And we all think she's a splendid girl, 
don't we ? " continued the other. 

"Something of the sort," said Hartley, 

" There you are, then," said the captain, 
triumphantly. " What is more likely than 
that they should think the same of each 
other ? Besides, I know what he thinks ; I 
can read him like a book." 

" You can't read Joan, though," said the 
other. " Why, she often puzzles me." 

" I can try," said the captain. " I haven't 
known her all these years for nothing. Now, 
don't tell her we saw her. You leave her to 
me— and listen." 

" Better leave her alone," said Hartley. 

The captain, who was deep in thought, 
waved the suggestion aside. He walked the 
remainder of the way in silence, and even 
after they were in the house was so absorbed 
in his self-appointed task, and so vague in his 
replies, that Joan, after offering him the pro- 
verbial penny for his thoughts, suggested to 
her father in a loud whisper that he had got 
something on his mind. 

" Thinking of the ships he has lost," she 
said, in a still louder whisper. 

The captain smiled and shook his head 
at her. 

" Couldn't lose a ship if I tried," he said, 
nudging Hartley to call his attention to what 
was to follow. "I was saying so to Mr. 
Robert only yesterday ! " 

His voice was so deliberate, and his 
manner so significant, that Miss Hartley 
looked up in surprise. Then she coloured 
fuiiously as she saw both gentlemen eyeing 
her with the air of physicians on the look-out 
for unfavourable symptoms. Anger only 
deepened her colour, and an unladylike and 
unfilial yearning to bang their two foolish 
heads together possessed her. Explanations 
were impossible, and despite her annoyance 
she almost smiled as she saw the concern in 
the eye the captain turned on her father. 
ft " Saying so only yesterday," repeated the 
former, " to Mr. Robert." 

,c I saw him this afternoon," said Joan, 
with forced composure. " I went up to 

Digitized by GoOQlc 

father's room and found Aim there. Why 
didn't you tell me you had given up your 
room, father ? " 

Mr. Hartley pleaded in excuse that he 
thought he had told her, and was surprised 
at the vehemence of her denial. With a 
slightly offended air he pointed out that 
it was a very slight matter after all. 

" There is nothing to be annoyed about," 
he said. " You went there to see me, and, 
not finding me there, came down again." 

" Ye-es," said Joan, thoughtfully. 

"Just put her head in at the door and 
fled," explained the captain, still watching her 

Miss Hartley appeared not to have heard 

" Came down three stairs at a time," he 
continued, with a poor attempt at a chuckle. 

" I was there about half an hour waiting 
for father," said Joan, eyeing him very steadily. 
" I thought that he was in the other office. 
Is there anything else I can tell you ? " 

The captain collapsed suddenly, and, turn- 
ing a red face upon Hartley, appealed to him 
mutely for succour. 

"Me?" he spluttered, feebly. "I — I 
don't want to know anything. Your father 
thought " 

"I didn't think anything," said Hartley, 
with some haste. 

The captain eyed him reproachfully. "I 

thought your father thought " he began, 

and, drawing out a large handkerchief, blew 
his nose violently. 

" Yes ? " said Joan, still very erect. 

"That is all," said the captain, with an air 
of dignity. 

He brushed some imaginary atoms from 
his beard, and, finding the girl's gaze still 
somewhat embarrassing, sought to relieve the 

" I've known you since you were five," he 
said, with inconsequent pathos. 

" I know," said Joan, smiling, and putting 
her hand on his broad shoulder. " You're a 
dear old stupid ; that is all." 

" Always was," said the relieved captain, 
"from a child." 

He began, with a cheerful countenance, to 
narrate anecdotes of his stupidity until, being 
interrupted by Hartley with one or two choice 
examples that he had forgotten, he rose and 
muttered something about seeing the garden. 
His progress was stayed by a knock at the 
front door and an intimation from Rosa that 
he was wanted. 

" My bo'sun," he said, re-entering the room 
with a letter. " Excuse me." 




He broke the seal, and turned to Hartley 
with a short laugh. " Peter Truefitt," he said, 
44 wants me to meet him at nine o'clock and 
go home together, pretending that he has 
been here with me. Peter is improving." 

44 But he can't go on like this for ever," 
said his scandalized friend. 

44 He's all right," said the captain, with a 
satisfied wink. " I'm looking after him. I'm 
stage-manager. I'll see " 

His voice faltered, and then died away as 
he caught Miss Hartley's eye and noticed the 
air of artless astonishment with which she 
was regarding him. 

44 Always was from a child," she quoted. 

The captain ignored her. 

44 1 11 just give Walters a note," he said, 
turning to Hartley with some dignity. 44 You 
don't mind his waiting? " 

He turned to a small writing-table, and 
with an air of preoccupation, assumed for 
Miss Hartley's benefit, began to try a pen on 
his thumb-nail. Hartley, going to the door, 
sent the boatswain off to the kitchen for a 
glass of ale. 

" Or perhaps you prefer tea ? " he added, 

44 Ale will do, sir," said Mr. Walters, 

He walked to the kitchen, and, pushing 
the door open softly, went in. Rosa Jelks, 
who was sitting down reading, put aside her 
book and smiled welcome. 

44 Sit down," she said, patronizingly ; " sit 

44 1 was going to," said Mr. Walters. 
44 I'm to 'ave a glass of ale," 

44 Say 4 please,' " said Rosa, shaking her 
yellow locks at him, and rising to take a glass 
from the dresser. 

She walked into the scullery humming a 
tune, and the pleasant sound of beer falling 
into a glass fell on the boatswain's ears. He 
stroked his small black moustache and 

" Would you like me to take a sip at the 
glass first ? " inquired Rosa, coming back 
carefully with a brimming glass, " just to give 
it a flavour ? " 

Mr. Walters stared at her in honest amaze- 
ment. After a moment he remarked gruffly 
that the flavour of the ale itself was good 
enough for him.. Rosa's eyes sparkled. 

44 Just a sip," she pleaded. 

44 Go on, then," said Mr. Walters, 

44 Ghin, chin ! " said Rosa. 

The boatswain's face relaxed. Then it 
hardened suddenly and a dazed look crept 

Digitized by Gi 

into his eyes as Rosa, drinking about two- 
thirds of the ale, handed him the remainder. 

44 That's for your impudence," she said, 
sharply. 44 1 don't like beer." 

Mr. Walters, still dazed, finished the beer 
without a word and placed the glass on the 
table. A faint sigh escaped him, but that 
was all. 

44 Bear ! " said Rosa, making a face at 

She looked at his strong, lean face and 
powerful figure approvingly, but the bereaved 
boatswain took no notice. 

44 Bear ! " said Rosa again. 

She patted her hair into place, and, in 
adjusting a hair-pin, permitted a long, thick 
tress to escape to her shoulder. She uttered 
a little squeal of dismay. 

44 False, ain't it?" inquired Mr. Walters, 
regarding her antics with some amazement. 

44 False ! " exclaimed Rosa. 44 Certainly 
not. Here! Tug!" 

She presented her shoulder to the boat- 
swain, and he, nothing loath, gave a tug, 
animated by the loss of two-thirds of a glass 
of beer. The next instant a loud slap rang 
through the kitchen. 

44 And I'd do it again for two pins," said 
the outraged damsel, as she regarded him 
with watering eyes. 44 Brute ! " 

She turned away, and, pink with annoy- 
ance, proceeded to arrange her hair in a 
small cracked glass that hung by the mantel- 

44 1 'ad a cousin once," said Mr. Walters, 
thoughtfully, 44 that used to let her 'air down 
and sit on it. Tall gal, too, she was." 

"So can I," snapped Rosa, rolling the 
tress up on her finger, holding it in place, 
and transfixing it with a hair-pin. 

44 H'm I " said the boatswain. 

"What d'ye mean by '//'mf'?" de- 
manded Rosa, sharply. " Do you mean to 
say I can't?" 

44 You might if you cut it off first," con- 
ceded Mr. Walters. 

"Cut it off?" said Rosa, scornfully. 
"Here! Look here!" 

She dragged out her hair-pins and with a 
toss of her head sent the coarse yellow locks 
flying. Then, straightening them slightly, she 
pulled out a chair and confronted him 
triumphantly. And at that moment the 
front-room bell rang. 

44 That's for you," said Mr. Walters, 

Rosa, who was already back at the glass, 
working with feverish haste, made no reply. 
The bell rang again, and a third time, Rosa 

I Q I I I '.' I 1 1 




^A i 


finally answering it in a coiffure that looked 
like a hastily- constructed bird's nest. 

" There's your letter," she said, returning 
with a face still flushed "Take it and 

"Thankee/ 1 said the boatswain, "Was 
they very frightened ? " 

" Take it and go/' repeated Rosa, with 
cold dignity. u Your young woman might 
be expecting you ; pity to keep her waiting," 

** I ain j t got a young woman," said Mr. 
Walters, slowly, 

** You sur- prise me ! n said Rosa, with false 

41 1 never would 'ave one," said the 
boatswain, rising, and placing the letter in his 
breast-pocket. " I've got along all right for 
thirty years without 'em, and 1 ain't going to 
begin now." 

" You must have broke a lot of hearts with 
disappointment," said Rosa. 

" 1 never could see anything in young 
wimmen," said the boats wain, musingly, 
" Silly things, most of 'em. Always thinking 

about their looks ; 
especially them as 
haven't got none." 

He took up the 
empty glass and 
toyed with it thought- 

"It's no good 
waiting," said Rosa ; 
"you won't get no 
more beer; not if you 
stay here all night." 

"So long!" said 
the boatswain, still 
playing with the 
glass. * 4 So long! I 
know one or two 
that'll *ave a fit pretty 
near when I tell 'cm 
about you sitting on 
your 'air. 1 ' 

He put up his left 
arm instinctively, but 
Miss Jelks by a 
supreme effort main- 
tained her calmness. 
Her eyes and colour 
were beyond her con- 
trol, but her voice 
remained steady, 

;*So long!" she 
said, quietly. She 
took the glass from 
him and smiled. "If 
you like to wait a 
a little drop more," 

by L^OOglC 

moment, Til get you 
she said, graciously. 

" Here's luck ! " said Mr, Walters, as she 
returned with the glass. He drank it slowly 
and then, wiping his lips with the back of 
his hand, stood regarding her critically. 

"Well, so long ! * he said again, and, before 
the astonished maiden could resist, placed 
a huge arm about her neck and kissed 

"You do that again, if you dare ! " she 
gasped, indignantly, as *he broke loose and 
confronted him. " The idea ! M 

4t I don't want to do it agin," said the 
boatswain. " I've 'ad a glass of ale, and 
you've 'ad a kiss. Now weVe quits," 

He wiped his mouth on the back of his 
hand again and walked off with the air of a 
man who has just discharged an obligation. 
He went out the back way, and Rosa, to 
whom this sort of man was an absolutely 
new experience, stood gazing after him 
dumbly. Recovering herself, she followed 
him to the gate, and, with a countenance on 
Original from 




which amazement still lingered, stood watch- 
ing his tall figure up the road. 

** Work ! " said Mr. Robert Vyner, severely, 
as he reclined in a deck-chair on the poop of 
the Indian CAief and surveyed his surround- 
ings through half-closed eyes. " Work ! 
It's no good sitting here idling while the 
world's work awaits my attention." 

. Captain Trimblett, who was in a similar 
posture a yard away, assented. He also 
added that there was " nothing like it." 

" There's no play without work," continued 
Mr Vyner, in a spirit of self-admonition. 

The captain assented again. "You said 
something about work half an hour ago," he 

" And I meant it," said Mr. Vyner ; " only 
in unconscious imitation I dozed off. What 
I really want is for somebody to take my 
legs, somebody else my shoulders, and waft 
me gently ashore." 

" I had a cook o' mine put ashore like 
that once," said Captain Trimblett, in a 
reminiscent voice ; " only I don't know that 
I would have called it * wafting,' and, so far 
as my memory goes, he didn't either. He 
had a lot to say about it, too." 

Mr. Vyner, with a noisy yawn, struggled 
out of his chair and stood adjusting his collar 
and waistcoat. 

" If I couldn't be a chrysalis," he said, 
slowly, as he looked down at the recumbent 
figure of the captain, " do you know what I 
would like to be ? " 

11 I've had a very hard day's work," said the 
other, defensively, as he struggled into a 
sitting posture — "very hard. And I was 
awake half the night with the toothache." 

"That isn't an answer to my question," 
said Mr. Vyner, gently. " But never mind ; 
try and get a little sleep now ; try and check 
that feverish desire for work, which is slowly, 
very, very slowly, wearing you to skin and 
bone. Think how grieved the firm would be 
if the toothache carried you off one night. 
Why not go below and turn in now? It's 
nearly five o'clock." 

"Couldn't sleep if I did," replied the 
captain, gravely. "Besides, I've got some- 
body coming aboard to have tea with me 
this afternoon." 

"All right, I'm going," said Robert, 
reassuringly. " Nobody I know, I suppose ? " 

"No," said the captain. "Not exactly," 
he added, with a desire of being strictly 

Mr. Vyner became thoughtful. The 

VoL xxxv.— 7. 

Digitized by V^OOQ IC 

captain's reticence, coupled with the fact 
that he had made two or three attempts to 
get rid of him that afternoon, was suspicious. 
He wondered whether Joan Hartley was the 
expected guest ; the captain's unwillingness 
to talk whenever her name came up having 
by no means escaped him. And once or 
twice the captain had, with unmistakable 
meaning, dropped hints as to the progress 
made by Mr. Saunders in horticulture and 
other pursuits. At the idea of this elderly 
mariner indulging in matrimonial schemes 
with which he had no sympathy, he became 
possessed with a spirit of vindictive emulation. 

" It seems like a riddle ; you've excited 
my curiosity," he said, as he threw himself 
back in the chair again and looked at the 
gulls wheeling lazily overhead. " Let me 
see whether I can guess — I'll go as soon as 
I have." 

"'Tisn't worth guessing," said Captain 
Trimblett, with a touch of brusqueness. 

" Don't make it too easy," pleaded Mr. 
Vyner. " Guess number one : a lady ? " 

The captain grunted. 

" A widow," continued Mr. Vyner, in the 
slow, rapt tones of a clairvoyant. " The 
widow ! " 

" What do you mean by the widow ? " 
demanded the aroused captain. 

"The one you are always talking about," 
replied Mr. Vyner, winking at the sky. 

" Me ! " said the captain, purpling. " I 
don't talk about her. You don't hear ine talk 
abou* her. I'm not always talking about 
anybody. I might just have mentioned her 
name when talking about Truefitt's troubles ; 
that's all." 

" That's what I meant," said Robert Vyner, 
with an air of mild surprise. 

" Well, it's not her," said the captain, 

" Somebody I know, but not exactly," 

mused Robert. " Somebody I know, but 

Let me think." 

He closed his eyes in an effort of memory, 
and kept them shut so long that the captain, 
anxious to get him away before his visitor's 
arrival, indulged in a loud and painful fit of 
coughing. Mr. Vyner's eyes remained closed. 

" Any more guesses ? " inquired the 
captain, loudly. 

Mr. Vyner slept on. Gulls mewed over- 
head; a rattle of cranes sounded from the 
quays, and a conversation — mostly in hoarse 
roars — took place between the boatswain in 
the bows and an elderly man ashore, but he 
remained undisturbed. Then he sprang up 
so suddenly that he nearly knocked his chair 

- 1 l •_! 1 1 l >.l l I I ■_' I 1 1 




over, and the captain, turning his head after 
him in amaze, saw Joan Hartley standing at 
the edge of the quay. 

Before he could interfere Mr. Vyner, hold- 
ing her hand with anxious solicitude, was 
helping her aboard. Poised for a moment 
on the side of the ship, she sprang lightly to 
the deck, and the young man, relinquishing 
her hand with some reluctance, followed her 
slowly towards the captain. 

Ten minutes later, by far the calmest of 
the three, he sat at tea in the small but com- 
fortable saloon. How he got there Captain 
Trimblett could not exactly remember. Mr. 
Vyner had murmured something about a 
slight headache, due in his opinion to the 
want of a cup of tea, and, even while talking 
about going home to get it, had in an 
abstracted fashion drifted down the com- 

" I feel better already," he remarked, as he 
passed his cup up to Miss Hartley to be 
refilled. " It's wonderful what a cup of tea 
will do." 

" It has its uses," said the captain, darkly. 

He took another cup himself and sat 
silent and watchful, listening to the conversa- 
tion of his guests. A slight appearance of 
reserve on Miss Hartley's part, assumed to 
remind Mr. Vyner of his bad behaviour on 
the occasion of their last meeting, was 
dispelled almost immediately. Modesty, 
tinged with respectful admiration, was in 
every glance and every note of his voice. 
When she discovered that a man who had 
asked for his tea without sugar had drunk 
without remark a cup containing three lumps, 
ohe became thoughtful. 

" Why didn't you tell me ? " she asked, in 

Modesty and Mr. Vyner — never boon 
companions — parted company. 

" I thought you had given me the wrong 
cup," he said, simply. 

The explanation seemed to Captain Trim- 
blett quite inadequate. He sat turning it 
over in his mind, and even the rising colour 
in Miss Hartley's cheek did not serve to 
enlighten him. But he was glad to notice 
that she was becoming reserved again. Mr. 
Vyner noticed it too, and, raging inwardly 
against a tongue which was always striving 
after his undoing, began with a chastened air 
to criticise the architecture of the new chapel 
in Porter Street. Architecture being a subject 
of which the captain knew nothing, he dis- 
cussed it at great length, somewhat pleased 
to find that both his listeners were giving 
him their undivided attention. 

by Google 

He was glad to notice, when they went up 
on deck again, that his guests had but little 
to say to each other, and, with a view to 
keeping them apart as much as possible, 
made no attempt to detain her when Joan 
rose and said that she must be going. She 
shook hands and then turned to Mr. Vyner. 

"Oh, I must be going, too," said that 

He helped her ashore and, with a wave of 
his hand to Captain Trimblett, set off by her 
side. At the bridge, where their ways home- 
ward diverged, Joan half stopped, but Mr. 
Vyner, gazing straight ahead, kept on. 

" Fine chap, Captain Trimblett," he said, 

"He is the kindest man I know," said 
Joan, warmly. 

Mr. Vyner sang his praises for three 
hundred yards, secretly conscious that his 
companion was thinking of ways and means 
of getting rid of him. The window of a 
confectioner's shop at last furnished the 
necessary excuse. 

" I have got a little shopping to do," she 
said, diving in suddenly. " Good-bye." 

The "good-bye" was so faint that it was 
apparent to her as she stood in the shop and 
gave a modest order for chocolates that he 
had not heard it. She bit her lip, and after 
a glance at the figure outside, added to her 
order a large one for buns. She came out of 
the shop with a bag overflowing with them. 

11 Let me," said Mr. Vyner, hastily. 

Miss Hartley handed them over at once, 
and, walking by his side, strove hard to 
repress malicious smiles. She walked slowly 
and gave appraising glances at shop windows, 
pausing finally at a greengrocer's to purchase 
some bananas. Mr. Vyner, with the buns 
held in the hollow of his arm, watched her 
anxiously, and his face fell as she agreed with 
the greengrocer as to the pity of spoiling a 
noble bunch he was displaying. Insufficiently 
draped in a brown-paper bag, it took Mr. 
Vyner's other arm. 

" You are quite useful," said Miss Hartley, 
with a bright smile. 

Mr. Vyner returned the smile, and in 
bowing to an acquaintance nearly lost a bun. 
He saved it by sheer sleight of hand, and, 
noting that his companion was still intent 
on the shops, wondered darkly what further 
burdens were in store for him. He tried to 
quicken the pace, but Miss Hartley was not 
to be hurried. 

" I must go in here, I think," she said, 
stopping in front of a draper's. " I sha'n't 
be long." 

Original from 




SEEMED to be waking slowly 
from a dream, in which I was 
bound hand and foot, and 
could not see or speak or 
hear; but the dream did not 
pass away, and I began gradu- 
ally to suspect it of reality. At last I con- 
cluded that I was awake and that some 
terrible physical calamity had robbed me of 
my senses ; but presently I heard a clock 
strike three. I felt sure that it was the 
church clock at Harbledon, where I lived. 
The cuckoo clock in my hall followed a few 
seconds later, as it always did. It sounded 
so loud that I thought I must have left my 
bedroom door open. Then I recollected 
that I was not in my bedroom when I last 
remembered, but in the library, writing. My 
memory ceased in the middle of a letter to 
Beatrice Meade. "You have made my life 

valueless, and " Something dark had 

come over my face just then, and a sickly 
smell. My head had been dragged violently 
backward and had struck against the high 
back of the chair. The rest was a blank. 

I had evidently been drugged and bound 
— doubtless by a robber — and left helpless. 

I was in a sitting posture, with my back 
against something and my legs raised. My 
arms seemed to lie along the arms of a chair. 
I was strapped round and round with band- 
ages ; there must be miles of them. Even 
my fingers were bound. There was some- 
thing in my mouth and something over it, 
and something round my head and chin to 
keep me from opening my mouth. I could 
not make the slightest sound or stir in the 
least— only wait till I was found. 

The servants would find me in the morn- 
ing, of course, since I was certainly in the 
house, though I could form no idea where. 
My eyes were not bandaged, but I could see 
no glimmer of light, no ou.line of windows. 
I feared that I had been put in a cupboard, 
in which case I might not be discovered for 
a long while. The delay would be a serious 
matter to me, for already I was aching all 
over from the restraint and feeling terribly 
faint. It seemed hours before the church 
clock struck the half-hour. The hall clock 
followed as usual, and again it sounded 
unfamiliarly near. 

Half-past three. The dawn should be 


beginning. Sunrise was at twenty past four. 
There was a dim light coming from some- 
where. It seemed to descend from over- 
head. The only places so lit were the 
billiard-room and the hall. I was certainly 
not in the billiard-room. That was in the 
annexe, and one could not hear the hall 
clock there. I could scarcely be in the hall, 
because, in addition to the skylight, it had 
side windows, and there was no trace of 
these. I seemed to distinguish a dull, 
brownish wall in front of me. 1 must have 
dozed or fainted at this period, for I did not 
hear four strike, only the half-hour. It had 
become quite light ; and the light came 
entirely from overhead, I was certain, though 
I could not look up to see. 

The " wall " in front of me appeared to be 
discoloured canvas. It was only about four 
feet wide between two real walls of mouldy 
plaster. This had fallen. off in places and 
left the bricks bare. It was a chair that I 
was tied to, I saw : one of those Indian 
chairs with long, flat, wooden arms that you 
could put your legs upon. Why, it was the 
chair that Roper brought to my house ! 
Roper ! Was he the robber ? 1 knew 
nothing of the man really. He was merely 
a well-matched opponent at golf, whom I 
had foolishly asked to stay with me for a 
week. I had only known him for a month, 
but it had often struck me that there was 
something familiar about his face. He was 
probably some criminal whom I had seen in 
the course of my professional duties (I was a 
barrister). How they would laugh at me in 
the courts when they heard of the affair ! 

It seemed ages before five struck. The 
cuckoo clock was evidently behind me. So I 
reasoned that I must be in one of the many 
cupboards that opened into the hall, with my 
back to the door ; but I did not understand 
how the cupboard came to be lit from the 
top. It was apparently an empty, disused 
cupboard, and it would be a long while before 
they searched there. They would not even 
notice my absence till they brought my morn- 
ing tea at half-past seven. Not even then. 
They would think that I was sleeping when 
I did not answer, and go away and bring 
another cup at eight. Then they always 
knocked till I answered. But they would 
probably see siejns of the robbery before then 




i;i:anonkh that i must he in os*k up tiik manv cui'kuakds that mi-rned intu 'tut hall/ 1 

and come to wake me ; and when they found 
that my bed had not been slept in they would 
surely search th? house. By half past seven, 
if I was lucky, I might be free* 

Half past live struck ; six ; half- past six, 
Then I heard something moving above, and 
the pleasant voice of old Mrs. Brand. She 
had been my nurse when 1 was a hoy, and 
now for twelve years she had acted as my 

,A Time to get up, my dears, v she called, in 
her gentle way. She was rousing the maids. 
The gardener and groom slept in the annexe* 

Seven struck, and immediately afterwards 
steps came down the stairs. 

" Oh, Lucy ! I do hate getting up." That 
was Mary, my favourite housemaid. Her 
voice was exactly behind me, and I could 
hear that she was on the stairs. There was 
no cupboard on the stairs I Where had I 
been put ? Was I under the floor or some- 
where where nobody would think of search- 
ing ? A sickly chill came over me, and I 

Digitized by GoOgfe 

tainted. When I roused 1 heard a soft 
tapping upstairs, and Mary's voice : — 
" Your tea, sir ! Your tea, sir ! " 
After two or three calls I heard the tinkle 
of tea-things as she moved away. 

"Your tea, sir!" she called from a little 
farther off. She would be at Roper's room 
now. To my surprise I heard him answer. 
He had evidently opened his door to take in 
the tray. 

"Thank you. Nice morning, isn't it ? " 
Roper had not gone ! Then presumably 
1 had done him an injustice. Yet some dim, 
elusive memory persisted in connecting him 
with the attack ; something that my assailant 
had muttered as he pulled my head kick in 
the cloth. I was unjust. There were really 
no grounds for suspecting Roper But who 
was he ? I felt sure that he reminded me of 

Presently 1 heard Mrs, Brand come down 
the stairs. I knew her slow steps. In a few 
moments I heard them again in front of me, 




beyond the wall that looked like drafcbrown 
canvas. What would she be doing kt this 
time of day? Why, tidying the library. 
She would never let anyone else touch my 
papers. The stairs behind and the library in 
front I was in the wall behind the portrait 
of Sir Rupert ! The canvas was the back of 
his picture. It was he who had built the 
hall. His son had hidden here and evaded 
the search of Cromwell's Ironsides, legend' 
said. This must be his secret hiding-place ; 
a hollow in the massive wall, opening at the 
top into the hall, under cover of the bulging 
cornice. If Cromwell could not find my 
ancestor, who was going to find me, or even 
suspect that I was there ? 

I must have fainted again, for I remember 
no more till Mary ran down the stairs crying 
hysterically that I had gone, and my bed 
hadn't been slept in, Mr. Roper said. 

" He has taken his small bag," Roper added. 

I looked again at something that had 
puzzled me on the floor, and recognised the 
edge of the bag. Roper had put it in with 
me, I decided. He meant them to believe 
that I had left the house, so that they would 
not search for me ; so that I should die ! 
Die inch by inch, of hunger and thirst and 
cramp, and all the time, hear those who 
would almost have given their lives for me 
close by. 

I must have fainted for a long while this 
time, for ten struck next. I heard Mrs. 
Brand talking to Roper in the library, as if 
she came in and found him there. What 
was he doing there, I wondered. 

" You are looking for something, sir ? " she 
asked, frigidly. She did not care for Roper, 
I knew. 

" I thought Mr. Mordaunt might have left 
a note to show where he had gone," he 

Apparently he had left my note to Beatrice 
upon the table, thinking that it might lead 
farther to the conclusion that I had gone 
away ; as, indeed, I had been thinking of 
doing, but not by stealth. 

"Indeed, sir!" Mrs. Brand's voice was 

44 He told me that he was coming here to 
write," he continued, after a pause. 

" Indeed, sir ! " she repeated. She had 
doubtless found the letter, and had put it 
away to guard my secrets from prying eyes. 

" He seemed a little disturbed last night, I 
thought," Roper remarked ; " after he came 
home from Mrs. Meade's, I mean. Possibly 
she might know of some reason for his 

hurried departure." 


" Possibly," Mrs. Brand agreed. 

" I'll go to the stations and inquire if he 
went from either," Roper proposed. 

" Thank you, sir." 

I heard the door shut. Then I heard 
Mrs. Brand crying softly. Presently Mary 
came in. She tried to comfort her mistress, 
and cried too. She was the old gardener's 
child, and had been destined for my employ- 
ment since she wore short frocks and a long 
pigtail that I used to pull. 

" He wasn't himself last night," she de- 
clared. " He never thanked me when I 
brought in his biscuits and coffee, but sat 
staring at nothing. Mrs. Meade's refused 
him. That's what it is, you mark my words, 
Mrs. Brand. And I thought she'd jump at 

" She gave him cause enough to think so," 
cried Mrs. Brand, bitterly. "I don't wonder 
at his taking on. Yes, that's what it is ; but 
don't you say a word; but I know you won't, 
or I wouldn't say what I've said to you. 
They think we women can't keep a secret, 
but we can for those we're fond of. He's 
proud, and he wouldn't like it known. It's 
some mischief as that Roper has made 
between them, I'd lay anything. I can't 
bear the man." 

" Nor I either," said Mary, emphatically. 
" I've seen him look at the master as if he'd 
kill him. You don't think he might have — 
done away with him ? " 

My heart gave a leap. If they would 
pursue that idea they might find me yet ; but 
Mrs. Brand's reply extinguished my hopes. 

" No, no ! " she said. " He's led him on 
to go away, likely enough, or fanned him 
when he was ablaze, so to speak, but that's 
all. I don't blame him for going away, but 
he might have told me ! He'll write by the 
first post, I shouldn't wonder. He'd know 
how I'd worry about him, and he was always 
thoughtful of others, ever since he was a little 
hoy. 'Don't cry, Nan,' he'd say, if anything 
upset me. 'Don't cry.' A wonderful good 
heart he had." The poor old dame sobbed 
pitifully. Mary joined in extolling me for a 
time. Then they left the room. 

Presently I heard voices again — Mrs. Brand 
and Roper and Dolland, the local inspector 
of police. 

"He evidently went by the six-fifteen 
from the junction," Rojxir said. "The 
booking-clerk and the porters noticed a tall 
gentleman with a small brown bag answer- 
ing to his description. The inspector has 
verified this." 

"Yes," Diilknd agreed. "The descrin- 





tion's right enough ; but it J s curious that he 
went third class, being a gentleman that likes 
to make himself comfortable." 

11 He would do it to throw people off the 
scent," Roper suggested, "You see, he's a 
barrister, and a very clever one — as some 
people know to their cost/' 

My mind took a leap. Roper must be 
some scoundrel whose conviction I had 
secured- This was his revenge. 

4t Ye-es>" Dolland agreed, "if he wanted to 
throw people off the scent But why should 
he? And, come to that, what's his motive 
for going off at all ? ™ 

11 The usual one, I suppose," I heard a 
match struck. t( Have a cigarette, inspector? n 
u If you mean money/ 

said Dolland, 



indignantly, *' I don't 
believe it Mr, Mor~ 
daunt's as straight as a 

41 Yes, yes ! " cried 
Roper. H I don't mean 
money ; certainly not ! 
There are two motives 
for running away, in- 
spector, you know. The 
other is— a woman. He 
came home from Mrs. 
Meade's rather — well, 
not quite himself, last 
night I fancy if you 

asked ker " 

'*Ah I" said the in- 
spector. " Ah-h-h ! I 
see + " 

44 Hardly a case for 
the police, eh ? M Roper 

"No-o," Dolland 
agreed. " Hardly, sir." 
He coughed a little. 
u He'd only be put out 
if I interfered." 

u Of course," Roper 
said, airily, "you might 
make a few guarded 
inquiries at her house ; 
or Mrs, Brand might 
mention to her that he's 
gone off in this way. 
But you'll know best, 

MM rather Mrs, 
Brand do it," the in- 
spector protested, 
4( He's not a gentleman 
that I'd like to offend." 
" Mrs. Meade," Mary 
announced ; and I heard Beatrice's clear, 
full voice. She spoke more quickly than 

"I want to know about Mr, Mordaunt," 
she said. " 1 must know, I have a right to." 
" The ins]>ector will give you the facts in a 
nutshell/' said Roper. " He understands 
what is relevant so much better than we do. 
Pray take a chair. Lovely morning, isn't it?" 
"Tell me, Mr. Dolland!" Beatrice en- 
treated, without answering Roper's trivial 

Dolland told her briefly the " facts " which 
Roper had persuaded him to adopt "We 
were wondering," he concluded, "what had 
sent him off in this curious way. He was 
rather — rather a friend of yours, ma'am, I 
Original from 




believe? Do you know of anything that 
might have upset him ? " 

" Yes," said Beatrice, faintly. 

" Something that might make him wish to 
go away from here, perhaps ? " 

11 Yes." 

11 Ah ! " said the inspector. " I see. We 
don't wish to pry into your — into his private 
affairs, of course. We'll take it that he has 
gone away for a bit, and that's all." 

"No," said Beatrice, "it isn't. I want 
him back." 

I struggled wildly to make a sound or 
movement, but without the slightest success. 

" I want him back," she repeated. " I — I 
know he would come back if— if he knew 
that I wanted him. You will trace him, 
won't you ? " 

" My dear Mrs. Meade," Roper protested, 
"the police cannot intervene in — shall we 
say lovers' quarrels ? At least, that is what I 
imagine the inspector will tell you." 

" He's sure to write to you, ma'am," 
Holland suggested ; " and then you'll be able 
to bring him back. It's hardly a case for us, 
ma'am ; and I don't know how Mr. Mordaunt 
might take it if we interfered. He wouldn't 
like his affairs being talked about among the 
police, ma'am." 

" But he might go away abroad, or — or 
do something foolish," Beatrice pleaded. 

"In this free country it is a man's privilege 
to do foolish things if he chooses," Roper 
asserted, with a sneer. "Eh, inspector?" 

" It isn't a case for the police, ma'am," 
Dolland answered. " I wouldn't dare to 
offend him." 

" Then perhaps you gentlemen will leave 
us," said Beatrice. 

The door closed, and the two women cried 

" Oh, Mrs. Meade," my old nurse wailed, 
" how could you do it ? He left an un- 
finished letter to you — this. I wouldn't 
show it to them. He was always proud, and 
had a right to be. You gave him cause to 
think that you loved him." 

"Oh," cried Beatrice, "I do!" 

I struggled to call out till the gag cut my 

"There, there!" Mrs. Brand comforted 
her. " My poor dear ! It will all come 
right, please God. Tell me." 

" I was only eighteen when I married Mr. 
Meade," Beatrice said. " I came straight 

from school, and my mother She is 

dead, and I won't talk of her. I was very 
fond of him as as a sort of father. I was, 
really. He was very, very good to me, and 

by LiOOgle 

he loved me so much. He wouldn't ask me 
to promise not to marry again, but he begged 
me to try not to. It was the last thing that 
he asked before — before the end. I felt as 
if I had no right to. I never meant to. I 
didn't want to lor years. And then I met 
Mr. Mordaunt, and I fell in love with him 
the instant I saw him. Oh, you don't know 
how much in love 1 But I thought it was 
wrong and disloyal, and I refused him ; but 
I — I thought he could make me say ' Yes,' 
and then it wouldn't be my fault, you see. 
But he didn't understand, and he— he went 
away. I ran after him ever so far down the 
road after he had gone, but I couldn't find him. 
He must have taken the short cut. He will 
come back, won't he ? He will come back ? " 

" I don't know, my dear," Mrs. Brand 
sighed. " He was passionate and headstrong 
naturally, though he kept it under, and in a 
general way he had the temper of an angel ; 

but when a big thing put him out He 

was terribly angry, as you can see from the 
letter ; and what frightens me most is that 
he left it in the middle and went off at the 
words you see " 

Beatrice gave an agonized cry. 

" * You have made my life valueless,' " she 

read. " Oh, you don't think he would 

You can't think that ! " 

" It must have been in his mind," said 
Mrs. Brand. (That was wrong. I never 
contemplated self destruction.) "But he'll 
think better of it, if I know my boy. 
Heaven knows what he's going through." 

" We must find him," Beatrice declared. 
" Shall we show the letter to the inspector ? 
He would help then, perhaps." 

" No," said Mrs. Brand. " He is a fool. 
Mr. Roper twists him round his finger." 

"And Mr. Roper?" 

" Mr. Roper hates my boy." (I was thirty 
six, but still a boy to my old nurse.) 

" How do you know ? " 

" My dear, I am sixty-four. There's a 
book that you learn to read as you grow 
older — the book of people. I do know. It's 
my belief that he wishes to hurt him ; and 
very likely he incited him to go away and 
knows where he is. But if he does he won't 
help. He'll do his best to baffle us." 

" I will telegraph to town for a detective," 
Beatrice cried. I heard her rise to go. 

" I telegraphed an hour ago," said Mrs. 

" Then I can do nothing," Beatrice wailed. 
" Nothing." 

" My dear," the older woman answered, 

" you can pray." 
7 Original from 




There was a silence, and I knew that they 
prayed I prayed, too. Then there was a 
blank till the clock struck three. 

My bonds no longer hurt me, and the 
cramping pains had ceased. I seemed to be 
too numbed to feel. Even my hunger was 
dulled ; but my thirst was intolerable. My 
tongue was swollen, and tongue and gag 
together felt as though they were bursting my 
mouth. I found that I could make a faint 
clicking sound with my teeth against the gag. 
I made it till my mouth would move no 
more ; but I knew all the time that the sound 
was too faint for anyone to hear. A passing 
footstep drowned it even to me. 

About four I heard Roper's voice in the 
hall, and gathered that he was leaving 
suddenly. Just after five I roused from a 
doze and heard voices in the library again 
— Mrs. Brand, Beatrice, and a stranger. 
No, not a stranger. He was Pleydell, the 
detective. I felt a little hope at the sound 
of his cough. He was a smart man — almost 
a genius in his line — and the very one I 
should have chosen. 

He had been over the house, I gathered, 
and had heard their account of the case. He 
did not controvert their surmises, and I 
gathered from his tone that he was impressed 
by the unfinished letter. He did not ask any 
questions about it, however, but inquired 
very carefully as to my habits. When did I 
generally use the library ? Which was my 
chair ? Where did I place it by day and by 
night ? How did I usually sit ? Where did 
I put the ink-pot ? How did I hold my 
paper ? Did I litter the room ? How did 
Mrs. Brand find it in the morning ? These 
were only a few of his questions. At last he 
paused and hummed softly, as was his custom 
when he was thinking. 

"What do you conclude?" Beatrice asked 
at length. 

" I haven't a conclusion," he said, slowly. 
" I'm just trying a few guesses, to see how 
they fit in with the facts." 

44 Tell us the guesses," she implored. 
"You don't know how-- how we feel about it. 
If you could give us a straw to catch hold of." 

" I think you have caught hold of too 
many straws already," he said, sharply. 
" There isn't a bit of evidence in what you 
have told me. It's all — Roper ! " 

So he had seen that ! My hopes grew 

" Just Roper ! " he repeated. " Who 
pointed out that the bag had gone? Who 
found out that a tall gentleman with a bag 
went by the six-fifteen? Who suggested that 

you were the reason of his departure ? Why 
did he suspect that a letter had been left ? 
Why did he rush off when he heard that I 
was coming? I am afraid — but may I ask 
if my man has come from the station yet? 
Send him up, please. Well, Smith ? " 

" I've turned the men at the railway station 
inside out, sir. Mr. Roper put the idea into 
their heads that the man who went away was 
Mr. Mordaunt, and -they put it into the 
inspector's. They think now that the gentle- 
man's bag was black and his suit brown ! " 

" Mr. Mordaunt took his dress-suit and a 
dark grey jacket suit," Mrs. Brand said. 
" I've been through his things. He had no 
brown suit ; atleast, not for summer wear." 

" There's a telegram for you, sir," the man 

"Thanks. You can wait below. Whew-w-w! 
This telegram is very, very disquieting, ladies. 
Yes, yes. You shall see it. But you must 
take a nip of brandy first. Teetotallers ? So 
am I ! But I won't read it until you do. 
Very good. This is what it says : — 

" ' Roper is ex-convict Jarman. Five years 
in 1900 for fraud and forger)'. Mordaunt 
prosecuting counsel. Gained the verdict by 
extraordinarily clever piecing together o_" 
circumstantial evidence. Complimented by 
judge. Jarman protested innocence, and 
threatened to be quits with Mordaunt some 
day. Shall we arrest him ? ' " 

" Well, give her some more brandy, ma'am. 
She's fainting. Come, come ! We haven't 
time for feelings. We've got to //link. Pull 
yourself together. For his sake ! " 

" Yes, yes ! " said Beatrice, faintly. " For 
his sake. I will not faint. I will not What 
are you going to do ?" 

"First, here goes a telegram to arrest 
Jarman. May I ring? Send my man with 
this at once. Secondly, I'm going to search 
the house. I fear — it's a kindness to warn 
you — that we may find " 

" Oh ! " There were two pitiful cries. 
Then there was a pause. 

"You have more grounds for your fears 
than you have told us," said Beatrice, at last. 

" Yes," he said, " I have. I do not 
usually tell my clients my- untested sus- 
picions. My reputation would be less if I 
did ! They often come to nothing. I hope 
that these will ; and if they do I trust to you 
not to give me away. Well, the first thing 
that strikes me as curious is that Mr. 
Mordaunt left this letter unfinished and on 
his table for anyone to find. A gentleman 
of his character usually finishes what he 
begins. If he doesn't he tears it up. If he 




has to leave it, he puts it away. Granted 
that he was agitated, sheer habit would have 
led him to do so, unless he was suddenly 
interrupted. I doubted the story that Roper 
had led you to believe as soon as I saw the 

" Now, look at the letter itself. It ends in 
the middle of a sentence ; and the last letter 
trails off in a straggling line, as if he dragged 
the pen over the paper. Suppose he sat 
here — like this, as Mrs. Brand thinks he 
would. The pen trails off in this direction — 
drops on the floor here" I heard a vesta 
struck. " It makes those inkstains on the 
carpet. Have you ever noticed them before, 
Mrs. Brand?" 

" My sight is not what it was," she said, 
with a shake in her voice. " Put — I think 
they are fresh." 

11 Now look through this magnifying-glass. 
Do you see those three hairs on the back of 
the chair? There is something sticky that 
holds them. It looks to me like a clot of 
blood. My theory is that he was violently 
seized from behind and drugged. It is only 
a theory, mind." 

" But not killed ! " Beatrice cried. " Not 

" If he is alive it is hard to imagine what 
has become of him," said Pleydell. "Of 
course, he may have been taken away some- 
where while he was unconscious and hidden ; 
but it would have been difficult — impossible, 
unless Roper had a confederate, which I 
doubt. It's the sort of thing that happens — 
in books ; but in real life it wouldn't be easy 
to hide him alive. But if— in the other event, 
he could easily be put somewhere — even in 
this house itself. That is why I warn you. 
There seem to be a good many cupboards 
and unused rooms." 

" Yes," cried Mrs. Brand ; " and they say 
that there is a secret hiding-place." She told 
him the legend. She had heard me tell it to 
Roper, she mentioned, and he had been very 
interested in the plans of the house. 

"Umph!" said Pleydell. " It might be. 
There is a secret room at Courtthorpe Hall, 
near here, I know. They are pretty usual in 
houses of this date in these parts. They are 
generally in the walls, and the irregular shape 
of this house gives plent\ of scope for a little 
chamber that wouldn't be noticed ; but the 
plans are generally disguised too, and wc 
shouldn't get much out of them. We'll 
knock the walls with a hammer." I should 
have laughed if I had been able. " But first 
I'll search the rooms and cupboards. You'd 
better not come." 


kl I must," both cried at once ; and they all 
went out together. 

I heard them hurrying about the house for 
a long while. Then at . last the knocking 
began. I can never bring myself to think of 
my feelings during that time of suspense, 
and, anyhow, no words could describe them. 
I will not attempt the impossible. 

The knocking came nearer and nearer. It 
had reached the foot of the stairs, when I 
heard Mary run to them with an excited cry. 

" A picture post-card," she cried. " From 
the master ! They've brought it from Mrs. 
Meade's. It's just come." 

"He's safe!" cried Beatrice. "Thank 
God ! " 

" Hold her ! " said Pleydell, sharply. 
" She'll fall ! " 

" No, no ! " she protested. " I— I am all 
right. Read it ! " 

" Read it for us," Mrs. Brand begged. 
" My old eyes — my dear boy ! " 

"It is from the Grand Hotel, Sarley ! " 
said Pleydell, in a perplexed tone. " Posted 
to-day. *I am staying here till to-morrow.' 
That's all. I suppose you're sure of the 
writing ? Jarman was a forger, remember." 

" He didn't forge this ! " said Mrs. Brand, 

" No, no ! " Beatrice laughed hysterically 
"This little scrawl under his initials. See! 
It was a private mark. We always put it. It 
meant that we still valued each other's friend* 
ship. He will forgive me." 

I had written the card a fortnight before, 
and omitted to post it. Roper must have 
found it, and posted it at Sarley as he passed 

" 1 can go," said Pleydell, grimly ; and 
then I knew the meaning of despair. 
Beatrice's delighted voice hurt me most of 

" 1 will write to him to-night," she vowed, 
"and he will come back to-morrow. If he 
doesn't I shall go and fetch him. Don't 
look so glum, Mr. Pleydell. We aren't going 
to give you away. You've been so kind, so 
very kind. You're glad, aren't you ? " 

"My dear lady," said Pleydell, "I am 
very glad ; and I wish you every happiness 

Beatrice laughed excitedly. 

"Together is understood," she declared. 
" We should never be happy apart. Thank 
you, Mr. Pleydell. And we really won't 

"Umph!" said Pleydell. "There'll be a 
fine row if they've arrested Jarman, and I'll 
bear enough abojjtf foftkhout your telling, f 




expect. If anyone had seen us knocking 

this old wall with the hammer Well, 

Til be off to the station." 

He went, and so did Beatrice. Mrs. Brand 
went upstairs crooning to herself. The 
servants' laughter died out, as they went 
below to the servants' hall. I was left alone 
to gnawing hunger and frenzied thirst, and 
a sickening fear that crawled over me like a 
slowly rising tide ; left alone to die. That I 
should be dead before they found out their 
error — it would take a day, perhaps two— I 
had no doubt. Already I had grown numb 
to everything but pain — and the thirst 
seemed to swallow up all the rest of the 
pains. They were all merged in one dazed, 
waking dream. I grew more and more 
stupefied, and seemed to swim giddily in a 
red sea — a sea of thirst afire. Somewhere 
across the sea a clock struck, and a cuckoo 
mocked it a little after. Eight — nine — I did 
not think I should hear ten. I was sinking — 
sinking — sinking ! 

Then I heard the voice of Beatrice. The 
words seemed to come to my mind long 
after she spoke. 

" He isn't there ! He isn't there ! I tele- 
graphed to him, and they telegraphed back 
that they hadn't seen him for a fortnight. I 
wired for Mr. Pleydell, but he can't get 
here to-night. We must go on searching. 
Quick ! Quick ! " 

It must be a dream, I thought — the 
dreams that come when you are drowning in 
a sea of- fire. It would be over soon ; over 

Then I dreamed of a furious knocking at 
the front door, and of Pleydell's voice. 

" He's not at Sarley, and hasn't been 
there. I couldn't believe I was wrong, so 
I motored over and back. They've wired 
that Jarman had disappeared when they 
went to arrest him. I was right ; it's 

" No, no ! " Beatrice cried. " It can't be ; 
it can't be ! He is hidden somewhere. Go 
on looking. Go on ! " 

" I've been looking everywhere," said 
Pleydell. "I've turned on the whole 

" Look here I " Beatrice persisted. " Every- 

I dreamed that she knocked at the walls 
with her soft white hands, and called my 
name, and vowed that she loved me, and 
would find me, and die, too, if I had died. 
It was the pleasant dream that comes before 
death, I told myself. I must be dying 
because the fiery sea had turned cold, very 

by LiOOglC 

cold. I should go to sleep but for the voices 
and the ceaseless rap, rap, rap. 

" Listen ! " cried Beatrice. " Listen ! It 
is hollow." 

"What is on the other side?" Pleydell 
asked. I had never heard him excited 

" The library," cried Mrs. Brand. 

" Stop here and knock when I call," he 
commanded. " No, no ; don't come, Mrs. 

" I must come," she insisted. 

"No, no; better not." 

" I must. You see, I loved him ! " 

Beatrice loved me. That was the right 
end to my last dream. Now I could go to 
sleep. God bless Beatrice ! 

I went to sleep. Her voice seemed to 
wake me. 

" He is coming to. Leave us alone. My 
dear love, my dear love ! " 

I opened my eyes. I lay on the couch in 
the library. There was a chasm in the wall. 
The picture of Sir Rupert sprawled across 
two chairs. Beatrice knelt beside me. She 
had one arm under my head ; the other held 
a cup. 

" Drink, darling," she said, and raised me 
with my head on her shoulder. I drank, 
watching her all the time. Her hair was 
disarranged, and she looked seventeen instead 
of seven - and - twenty. There were tear - 
streaks on her face. Her hands were cut 
where she had torn at the walls. She kissed 
me many times. 

A telegram came from Roper — or Jarman 
— just after they had found me. It told 
them to turn the third rose on the left-hand 
side of the picture, and they would discover 
what they had lost. 

The next morning I had a letter from him. 
I will let him defend himself. 

" I presume they found you alive. That 
was always my intention. I don't know if I 
succeeded in concentrating the miseries of 
my four years and two months and three 
days' imprisonment (that's the exact term) 
into your twenty-odd hours. That was my 
intention too. 

" I was an innocent man. You had all 
the facts before you. You picked out those 
only that bore against me, and worked them 
up into a diabolical story. Set the sufferings 
that I have justly caused you against those 
that you unjustly caused me, and cry quits 
like I man. I do." 

He missed a main point. I merely did 
my duty as an advocate, and I honestly 
believed him guilty. But still 





Well, I would not let Plejrdell pursue have been injured! — "I've a grievance 

him. against him, 1 know. I've a lot or 

"Oh, yes,*' I told Beatrice, when she grievances against the world, if you come 

protested — there is no one so hard as to that, but I'm going to marry you— and 

a soft woman when those she loves cry 'Quits!** 

Vol. xxxv. -9 

by Google 

Original from 

By T. C. 

HERE is no man more sen- 
sitive to ridicule than the 
sailor. He detests the merest 
suspicion of being laughed at, 
and, while among themselves 
in the fo'c's'le sailors yarn end- 
lessly, it is most difficult for the landsman to 
get a seaman to talk freely, kven then, one 
doubtful look or word of disbelief and he 
shuts up, close as the proverbial oyster. 

The consequence is that we on land never 
hear of many of the strange things that 
happen at sea. For instance, you will hardly 
ever get a sailor to mention the sea-serpent. 
While those who have gone most deeply into 
the subject have little doubt about the 
existence of still unclassified sea monsters, 
the sailor, knowing with what ridicule the 
Press greets any mention of these creatures, 
no longer reports their appearance. And the 
same or even greater reticence is observed 
with regard to the seeing of phantom ships 
and other ghosts of the sea. 

Many of these supposedly supernatural 
appearances are doubtless explainable from 
natural causes. To take one instance, the 
mystery of the well-known phantom ship of 
Ca|>e Horn has recently been elucidated. Over 
and over again vessels on their way from 
Europe to Western America via Cape Horn 
have been startled by the sight of a large ship 
with decks awash drifting in an almost im- 
possible position beneath the giant cliffs of 
the Straits of Lemaire. At night or in storm 
this barque with her towering white sails has 
the strangest appearance. The Crown of 
Italy, attempting to go to the aid of the 
supposed derelict, ran upon a reef and was 
wrecked, and a similar fate has befallen 
several other vessels. I^ast year, at the 
request of the United States, the Argentine 
Government sent a steamer to make re- 
searches. It was found that the supposed 
phantom was nothing but a rock— a rock 
which, by some strange freak of Nature, was 
white instead of black like those surrounding 
it, and bore the most startling likeness to 
a ship with sails set and deck just level 
with the waves. Another strangely-shaped 

Digitized by ^OOgie 

ike Se&o 


rock off St. Helena, whitened with sea 
birds, bears so exact a resemblance to a 
full-rigged ship that the oldest and most 
experienced seamen have been deceived. 

Mirage, again, may account for some of 
the spectres which have puzzled and alarmed 
mariners. Mirage is a phenomenon not 
confined to sandy deserts, for it is seen 
over snowfields and glaciers and at sea. 
In 1854 H.M.S. Archer, cruising in the 
Baltic, saw the whole of the British Fleet 
of nineteen ships inverted in the air 
apparently only a few miles away. At the 
time the fleet was actually hull down, the 
nearest ship being quite thirty miles from 
the Archer. A gentleman living at Bed- 
hampton recently described how the Nab 
Lightship, which is really twelve miles from 
his house, was brought by mirage so near 
that the men on board could be clearly seen 
with the naked eye. 

But apart from such natural phenomena, 
there are things seen at sea by no means so 
easy of explanation. We have no less 
credible a witness to the appearance of a true 
phantom ship than the present heir to the 
throne. The incident is recounted in " The 
Cnrse of the Bacchante" On July 11th, 
1 88 1, at four" o'clock in the morning, a 
spectral ship crossed the bows of the vessel 
in which the present Prince of Wales and his 
late lamented brother were cruising round 
the world. The apparition is described in 
these words : "The Flying Dutchman crossed 
our bows. A strange red light, as of a 
phantom ship all aglow, in the midst of which 
light the masts, spars, and sails of a brig two 
hundred yards distant stood up in strong 
relief. Thirteen persons altogether saw her, 
but whether it was Van Diemen or the 
Flying Dutchman, or who else, must remain 
unknown. The Tourmaline and Cleopatra, 
which were sailing on our starboard bow, 
flashed to ask whether we had seen the 
strange red light." It is a curious fact that 
six hours later the able seaman who was the 
first to sight this terrifying apparition fell 
from the foretop-mast crosstrees and was 
smashed to p^ec^ na | f rom 




,tf ^^J^MB^^m 











The so-called Flying Dutchman is the 
best known of all ghostly wauderm of the 
ocean, and his story the most familiar The 
usually accepted version is that Cornelius 
Vanderdecken, a Dutch sea captain, was on 
his way home from Batavia when, in trying 
to round the Cape of Good Hope, he met 
with baffling head winds, against which he 
struggled vainly for nine long, weary weeks. 
At the end of that time, finding that his 
ship was in precisely the same position as 
at the beginning, Vanderdetrken burst. into a 


fierce fit of impious passion, and, dropping 
on his knees upon the deck, cursed the 
Deity and swore by Heaven and Hell that he 
would round the Cape if it took him till the 
Day of Judgment. Taken at lus word, he 
was doomed there and then to beat to and 
fro for all time, and sailors' superstition con- 
nects the appearance of his phantom ship 
with certain and swift misfortune. 

Van der dec ken is not the only ocean 
wanderer in the latitude of Cape Agulhas. 
There is gpfH[ff5| tfiyfflg Dutchman in the 


6 4 



shape of Bernard Fokke. Fokke, who lived 
in the latter half of the seventeenth century, 
was very different from the ordinary type of 
Hollander. He was a reckless fear-nothing, 
who boasted that his vessel could beat any 
other afloat- To make good his boast he 
cased her masts in iron and crowded more 
sail upon her than any other ship of the time 
dared carry* It is on record that he made 
the passage from Rotterdam to the East 
Indies in ninety days, a feat at that period 
savouring of the miraculous. The story goes 

Digitized by GoOglc 

that, in his anxiety to heat even his own 
record, Fokke sold his soul to the Evil 
One, and at his life's end he and his ship 
both disappeared* Transported to the scene 
of his old exploitSj and with no other crew 
than his boatswain, cook, and pilot, he is con- 
demned to slrive endlessly against heavy gales 
that ever sweep him back. 

Whether the phantom ship be that of 
Vanderdecken or of Fokke, the fact remains 
that nine-tenths of all the reported appear- 
ances of phantom ships are between the 




fortieth and fiftieth latitudes. Nor has the 
age of steam killed the tradition, for a year 
rarely passes without some vessel sighting one 
of these ghostly wanderers of the ocean. All 
sailors believe that, while spectre ships usually 
hail any vessels which they meet* it is the 
height of bad luck to reply in any way. 

Phantoms of the sea have frequently been 
seen off various parts of our British coasts. 
In old days Cornwall was notorious for the 
wreckers, who worked their wicked will 
along the iron-bound cliffs. Priest Cove is 
believed to be still haunted by one of these 
gentry, who during his lifetime preyed on 
the spoils of unfortunate vessels lured ashore 
by a false light hung round the neck of a 
hobbled horse. The wrecker is seen on 
stormy nights, but now no longer on shore. 
He clings to a fragment of timber among the 
breakers, and is eventually dashed upon the 
rocks, and disappears in the roaring foam- 

The fishermen of the rugged coast of 
ICerry have another legend connected with 
the fate of wreckers. One winter morning, 
early in the eighteenth century, a large ship 
was found, mastless and deserted, wedged 

among the rocks of that deadly coast. The 
wreckers eagerly pushed off, and to their joy 
found that the galleon was laden with ingots 
of silver and other rich produce of Spanish 
America, They filled their boats to the 
water's edge, and were eagerly pulling back 
when a monstrous tidal wave came rushing 
up out of the west. The horrified watchers 
on shore saw their brothers and husbands 
instantly swallowed up, and when the wave 
had broken not a sign remained of boats or 
men or ship, U[>on each anniversary of the 
day the grim tragedy is said to be re-enacted. 
The Sol way has more than one phantom 
craft. Centuries ago two Danish sea-rovers, 
who had spent a lifetime in deeds of crime 
and cruelty, put into the Sol way with their 
long ships heavy laden. A sudden furious 
storm broke, and the overweighted ships sank 
at their moorings with all aboard. Upon 
clear nights these two vessels, with their high 
curved prows and rows of shields along the 
gunwale, are sometimes seen gliding up the 
estuary, but no money would tempt the local 
fishermen to go out to meet them. The 
story is that about a century and a half ago 







two young men, pot-valiant, did row out to 
investigate. They were watched to approach 
the ghostly visitants, when suddenly the 
galleys sank, and the boat and its occupants, 
drawn down in 
the swirl, were 
never seen 
again. The 
so called "spec 
tral shallop" of 
the Sol way is 
the apparition 
of a boat which 
was maliciously 
wrecked by a 
rival while ferry- 
ing a bridal 
party across the 
bay. It is 
manned by the 
fleshless ghost 
of the wrecker, 
but the only 
ships which it 
approaches are 
those which are 
doomed to 
wreck or dis- 

'I 1 he rocky 
coasts of New 
England are 
haunted by 
several ghost 
ships. Of these 
the spectre of 
the Palatine is 
the best known, 
and her appear - 
ance flying 
down Long 
Island Sound 
is generally re- 
cognised by 
fishermen and 
coasters as a 
forewarning of 
disastrous storm. 


Her story is* a terrible 
one. The Palatine was a Dutch trailer 
which, lured by false lights exhibited by 
wreckers, went ashore on Block Island 
in the year 1752. Having stripped her, 
the wreckers, in order to conceal all traces 
of their crime, fired her. As the title 
lifted her and carried her, wrapped in flames, 
out to sea shrieks of agf>ny burst forth, 
and a woman, presumably a passenger who 
had hi rid en herself in fear of the wreckers, 
-vd on deck amid the crackling blaze. 

by Google 

Next instant the deck collapsed and she 

The New Haven ghost ship is, like the 
Pa/a fine, an omen of disaster. In January, 

1647, a vessel built 
at New Haven 
sailed on her 
maiden voyage. 
In the following 
June there came 
one afternoon a 
furious thunder 
storm, and after it 
was over, and about 
an hour before 
dark, the well- 
known craft was 
sighted sailing 
into, the river 
mouth— but straight 
into the eye of the 
w i nd ! People 
crowded upon 
the shore to 
w a t c^h her, 
but while still 
a mile or more 
a way she 
slowly vanished 
from sight. It 
was agreed 
that the appari- 
tion signified 
that the ship 
herself had 
been lost, and, 
in fact, she 
n e v e r was 
heard of again. 
ho n g fel 1 o w 
has written 
a poem em- 
bodying the 
story, of 
which one 
verse may be 
quoted : 

And tht' masts with all ihcir rising 

Fell slnwly one hy one ; 
Ami (hi: hull tliinied and vanished 

As a sea-mist in ihe sun. 

The storm -ridden Gulf of St. I -i wren re is 
still haunted by the flagship of a fleet sent 
hy Queen Anne against the French, The 
fleet reached Gaspe Bay, when a fearful gale 
rose suddenly, and one after another the 
ships were driven on the rocks and broken 
to pieces or sunk. It was under the tall 
cliffs of ill-named Cape d'lispoir that the 




flagship came to her end, and upon each 
anniversary of the wreck the sight is repeated. 
Her deck is seen to be covered with soldiers, 
and from her wide, old-fashioned ports lights 
stream brightly. Up in the bows stands a 
scarlet-coated officer, who points with one 
hand to the land, while the other arm is round 
the waist of a handsome girl. Suddenly 
the lights go out, the ship km hes violently, 
her stern heaves upwards, and screams ring 
out as she plunges bow-foremost into the 
gloomy depths. 

There are other sea phantoms besides 
apparitions of vessels, and not all are 
portents of misfortune. Some, indeed, are 
kindly in intention. Such was the drowned 
man who appeared in the middle of the 
night to Captain Rogers, of H.M.S. Society, 
and warned him to go on deck and have the 
lead cast. He did so, found only seven 
fathoms, tacked, and when morning came 
saw himself close under the Capes of 
Virginia instead of, as he had imagined, 
being more than a hundred miles out at sea. 
Another kindly ghost is a lady whose child 
was drowned at sea and who roams the beach 
at Lyme Regis searching for the body. Those 
who see her and afterwards follow where she 
has walked always find coins. 

A well-known novelist has written a most 
gruesome story of a ghost which invaded a 
cabin in a modern liner, and lay in its accus- 
tomed berth, dripping with salt water and 
festooned with seaweed. It is a very old 
belief among sailors that the ghost of a 
drow f ned man returns in this fashion. In 
Moore's " Life of Byron " it is related that a 
certain Captain Kidd told the poet how the 
ghost of his brother (then in India) visited 
him at sea and lay down in his bunk, leaving 
the blankets wet with sea-water. He noted 
the time and found that it corresponded 
exactly with the hour at which his brother 
was accidentally drowned. 

A similar incident occurred much more 
recently in the United States Navy. Twenty 
years ago the old U.S. corvette Monongahela 
had a paymaster, a red-bearded man with 
one eye, who was known throughout the 
navy as one of the best story-tellers in the 
service. He was a most popular man, but, 
alas ! his love of whisky eventually brought 
him to his end. He died on board ; and 
before his death he said to the other officers, 
"Dear boys, you've been good to me, and 
I love you for it. I can't bear to think of 
leaving the ship, and if I can I shall come 
back, and you'll find me in my old cabin, No. 2 
on the port side." Although nobody allowed 

Digitized by tiOOglC 

that he believed the "Pay" would come back, 
yet No. 2 remained vacant for three cruises. 

Then Assistant-Paymaster S joined the 

ship, and having, as he said, no superstitions 
installed himself comfortably in No. 2. All 
went well and they were homeward bound 
when, one night in April, the whole ship was 
terrified by unearthly screams. The officers 

rushed out, and there was S in a heap on 

the floor of the flat outside the cabin. When 
asked what was the matter, he gasped out, 
" A dead thing— a corpse in my berth — one 
eye and a red beard. Horrible ! " When 
he had recovered himself a little he explained 
that he had awakened, feeling very cold. As 
he moved he came into contact with 
something clammy, slimy, and cold as ice. 
By the dim light which leaked through the 
port he saw that he had a bedfellow, a corpse 
with one eye staring, and a red beard tangled 
with seaweed. The officers crowded into 
the door of No. 2. There was no corpse, 
but — on the wet and tumbled blankets lay a 
few fragments of barnacled seaweed ! 

Another ghost story concerns the United 
States Coast Survey schooner Eagre, The 
Eagre was once a private yacht, and went 
by the name of the Mohaivk. One fin? 
evening she was lying off Staten Island with 
her starboard bow anchor out. Her mainsail 
and staysail had both been left standing, and 
for some reason — no one knows what — the 
sailing-master had hauled aft the main-sheet 
and secured it before going below. He had 
hardly dropped down the hatch when a 
squall swept up, and in an instant the 
Mohawk vas on her beam ends. Nearly 
everyone was drowned, including the captain. 
The vessel was raised again and sold to the 
United States Government, but her crews 
ever afterwards declared that she was 
haunted. Every night the sailing-master 
would come on deck with a rush, spring to 
the main-sheet, and frantically attempt to 
cast it loose in order to save his vessel. 

It is a common belief among sailors that a 
ship which has been sunk and raised again is 
haunted by the ghosts of those who were 
drowned in *her. Some fifteen years ago a 
large emigrant steamer was sunk in the 
Mediterranean, and over five hundred lives 
were lost. Thousands were spent in raising 
the vessel. She was brought home and 
refitted, but has never since been used. It 
is impossible to keep a crew. The men 
declare that every* night the great hull rings 
with the screams and groans of the multi- 
tudes who sank, like rats in a trap, to the 
bottom of sixty feet of stormy sea. 


O O O 


o o © 

IV. — The Escape of Gershuni from Akatui Prison, 

By Jaakoff Pkelookkk, Author of 4£ Heroes and Heroines of Russia," etc. 

N February, 1904, a court 
martial held in St. Peters- 
burg sentenced to death three 
political prisoners, Gregory 
Gershuni, Evgeni Grigorieff, 
and Michael Melnikoff, for 
belonging to a secret society called " Boevaia 
Organizatsia " (''The Fighting Organization"), 
which carried out the assassinations of the 
Minister of the Interior and of the Governor 
of Ufa, and organized attempts on the lives 
of the Procureur of the Holy Synod and the 
Governor of Kharkofil 

At the trial it became clear that Gershuni 
was the leading spirit in the whole conspiracy. 
His dignified conduct and powerful, states- 
manlike speech produced an extraordinary 
impression upon all pre- 
sent, who could not help 
feeling a certain amount 
of respect for his striking 
personality. In fact, 
after the death -sentence 
one of the judges, talking 
with a colleague and 
pointing to Gershuni, said, 
quite audibly ; — 

" Da, vot etot deistvi- 
telno tcheloviek ! "— 
" Yes, this is indeed a 
man ! M 

In the following article 
I propose to relate Ger~ 
shuni's wonderful escape 
from prison, the story 
of which sounds like a 
piece of sensational 
fiction, but is, neverthe- 
less, absolutely true in 
every particular. 

The fact that the 
accused themselves had 
not personally com- 
mitted a murder led to 
the death sentences being 
commuted to one of f™«] 

penal servitude for life, Gershuni was* in 
February, 1906, transported to Akatui Prison, 
Eastern Siberia. 

Needless to say, the thoughts of every 
political convict are always concentrated 
upon the possibility of making good his 
escape, and from the moment of his arrival 
at Akatui Gershuni began to study his new 
surroundings, the prison regulations, and the 
characters of his jailers. For a time, how- 
ever, an escape seemed utterly impossible. 
Several previous attempts at digging tunnels 
under the prison walls had been discovered, 
and led only to increased vigilance, the out- 
side watch alone having been augmented 
from four sentinels to twenty. Nevertheless, 
the political prisoners decided that Gershuni at 
least should escape, even 
if the most desperate 
means were employed, 
and the plan settled 
upon was to utilize for 
that purpose the very 
houses of the prison 
governor and officials, 
which stand outside the 
prison at some distance 
from it. 

The better to under- 
stand the events that 
followed this decision, it 
is necessary to point 
out the extraordinary 
inner life prevailing in 
all large Siberian prisons. 
The prisoners themselves 
cook or bake their food, 
and do the washing, 
cleaning, and all other 
necessary work. Solitary 


ftfteiCtlriAY GHtrtttV'Nt, 


by Google 

confinement is quite 
unknown except as a 
punishment. The "pri~ 
soners live a free life 
within the prison walls. 
The provisioning of 

Original from 



hundreds of the inmates is practically in 

their own hands, the kitchen is in their own 
possession, and they can arrange their menus 
as they like. 

No% the favourite Russian national dish is 
the famous shtchi, or borshtch, consisting of 
pickled cabbage boiled into a thick soup with 
linseed or sunflower-seed oil, or ordinary fat 
and meat, according to one's worldly pos- 

organization of the escape were simply mar- 
vellous. I^et us just consider all the circum- 
stances and conditions which were necessary 
to more or less ensure a successful issue. 

First of all, it was necessary to procure 
a barrel large enough to contain a man, 
supplied with a change of clothing to put on 
after he left It, then to pamtion off about a 
third of the barrel for the cabbage and the 

Frvm n\ 


[Tft^t uitru j4i. 

The hoiiNt In front cofltftlFU ilic offices sntt (UAfdHroom& The large house behind is ihe prison. To the right ate ihe kite he 1 
and the kith house ; to the left is the hospital* The house in the distance at the hick to ihc left h ih-it of the governor, neat 

which is the cellar whence Ciershnni made his escape. 

sessions To prepare this pickled cabbage 
for the whole prison for the winter enormous 
barrels are, of course, required, and at Akatui 
these were stored in a cellar situated m the 
courtyard of the houses of the governor and 
other officials standing, as already mentioned, 
outside the prison. To this cellar the 
prisoners now and again carry various other 
provisions under the escort of warders or 
soldiers, everything passing through the prison- 
gates being, of course, carefully examined. 

The possibility of a prisoner being carried 
out of the gates under the guise of u pro- 
visions " occurred to many, but was given up 
as utterly hopeless. If even such contraband 
succeeded in passing it would only have 
been placed in the locked up cellar outside, 
which is in itself even a worse prison than 
that from which the escape was to be made. 
Nevertheless, it was decided to venture 
upon this most desperate attempt, in which 
Gershuni stood the most serious risk of l>emg 
simply suffocated even before the barrel with 
the pickled cabbage left the prison gate, or 
after it had been deposited in the cellar 
outside. The preparations and the whole 

Vol. xxxv —10 

> liquid, so as to deceive any official likely to 
inspect the provisions. Then it was necessary 
to arrange some breathing appaiatus and to 
let the interior of the barrel communicate 
with the outside air. All this I eing sue- 
cosful, it was necessary lo dig a tunnel hum 
the cellar outside and also to arrange a system 
of signalling from the exterior, so as to give 
the fugitive warning in case there were 
passers-by at the moment of his leaving the 
tunnel. Should all these processes succeed, 
it was necessary to have horses and a vehicle 
in readiness at some distance to meet the 
fugitive, and at the same time to arrange 
within the prison to conceal the absence of 
Gershuni as long as possible, to give him 
a chance of gaining a start and finding a safe 
place of hiding. 

To accomplish all these preparations both 
inside and outside the prison under the lynx- 
eyed, constant vigilance of warders, soldiers, 
and officials seems indeed a superhuman 
task t possible only in a work of fiction. Vet 
it was accomplished, and the fact is the best 
answer to all incredulous questions. 

A suitable barrel was procured, as well a? 
Original from 




two gutta-percha tubes, which were fixed in 
holes made in the bottom, one tube to draw 
the air inwards, the other for breathing it 
out. The best time for carrying out the plan 
was an early morning hour, for during the 
night all prisoners are locked up in their 
cells. Then the digging of the tunnel had 
to be completed during the night before the 
escape, as it was dangerous to have the exit 
stand open too long. 

After all details inside and outside the 
prison were arranged, the date for the escape 
was finally fixed for the morning of the 13th 
(our 26th) of October. The arrangements 
outside were in the hands of prisoners who, 
after a term of confinement, are transferred 
to what is called the " Free Colony," which is 
a settlement outside the prison, where the 
convicts enjoy more freedom of movement. 

At the appointed date and hour a signal 
from outside was received that everything was 
ready, and with feverish activity the filling of 
the barrel commenced. Only a few minutes 
before, Gershuni, who was the prison librarian, 
went to the chief warder, offering him "an 
absorbingly interesting" book to read, and 
asking him to send the tailor "to-morrow" to 
measure him for a new coat. Gershuni also 
went to the day overseer and arranged with 
him about men to help him to bring in " later 
in the day " logs of wood for the ovens. All 
these tricks were performed simply in order 
that the officials might see him, and naturally 
think of him as present during the rest of the * 

What followed I will now give partly in 
Gershuni's own words: — 

" Stealthily I reached the room where my 
comrades were already waiting for me, and in 
a moment I was in the barrel, bending my 
body as much as possible. Over my head 
they began to fasten a pices of leather, and it 
became pitch-dark, when suddenly someone 
shouted : ' The plate, the plate ! You have 
forgotten the plate ! ' As the officer examin- 
ing the barrel when passing through the gate 
might have poked his sword through the 
cabbige and pierced the leather, it had been 
arranged to protect my head with an iron 
plate, which, however, had been forgotten at 
the moment. 

" The plate was immediately brought, 
someone £ave me a last pressure of the hand, 
another kissed me on the head, and I heard 
the comforting words : — 

" ' Farewell, dear comrade ; everything is 
all right. Be calm.' 

"The leather was once more stretched and 

fastened with nails to the sides. I heard the 

Digitized by CjOOgle 

cabbage falling above, and soon I was soaked 
in the liquor which penetrated round the 
edges of the leather cover. All my attention 
was, however, concentrated upon regulating 
my breathing through the tubes and holding 
them so that they should not become en- 
tangled or broken. It was important to 
regulate the action of the heart and to pre- 
vent fainting, for which purpose I was sup- 
plied with ether, wine, and ice-water. The 
noise of the falling cabbage continued, and 
for a moment I wondered whether I was really 
being buried alive and should never rise again. 

" The next act now commenced. I abso- 
lutely did not feel how they carried out the 
barrel from the room, down several steps, on 
to the sledge. I heard only the words : 
1 Hi ! open the gates ! ' and felt that the 
sledge was stopped and some negotiations 
were proceeding. Then I heard a voice : 
' Hi ! boys, now be quick ! ' and I felt the 
sledge slide swiftly down the hill outside the 
prison. Thank Providence, we had passed 
safely through the gates ! 

" It is remarkable that during all the time 
I was sitting crouched in the barrel I felt no 
excitement, no anxiety, no hope, no doubt, 
no fear, no joy, no expectation— nothing at 
all. Past and future were totally obliterated, 
and my mind was concentrated solely on the 
necessities of the immediate moment." 

The cellar in the courtyard of the 
governor's house consisted of a large room, 
practically level with the ground, and a lower 
room at the end, very dirty and quite dark. 
It was decided to put down the barrel in the 
second room, as in the first it would be 
dangerous, the wives of the officials frequently 
coming there. To the convoy which accom- 
panied the conspirators it was explained that 
the first room was not warm enough, and the 
fresh cabbage would soon become frozen. 

The operation of letting down the very 
heavy barrel was no easy matter, and two 
soldiers of the convoy helped to lower it. 
The barrel, once on the ground, rolled over 
several times, and with it, of course, Gershuni, 
who, however, still managed to keep the two 
breathing-tubes in safety. 

In a few minutes three knocks on the 
barrel announced to Gershuni that every- 
thing was right. The cover, upon the entrance 
into the second room, was put back into its 
place ; then, with great banging and noise, 
the outside door of the upper room was 
locked, all this noise and banging having 
been made purposely as signals to Gershuni 
that everything was well. 

In case anything untoward might happen 




to Gershuni, and he might not be able to free 
himself from the barrel, it was arranged that 
a comrade From outside should hide himself 
in the tunnel near the wall of the upper 
cellar, and as soon as he heard the doors 
locked again he was to enter the cellar and 
render the prisoner every assistance* As he 
did not appear, Gershuni made efforts to get 
out of the barrel himself. He had a knife 
with which to cut through the leather cover, 
but in his cramped up position and lark of 
space, having also to hold the breathing- 
tunes, he could not free his hand sufficiently 
to make the cut across the whole of the 
leather. He only made a hole through which 
a mass of cabbage and liquor poured down, 

tearing away the tubes which he held with 
:b- nifji/r haml. 

The moment was a dangerous one, as in 
a few moments, of course, he would be 
suffocated. Fighting for breath he strained 
his last strength to the uttermost, and finally 
succeeded in knocking out the whole leather 
cover with his head* Fortunately, it was not 
nailed round the barrel very firmly, but it 
was nevertheless very difficult to remove on 
account of the weight of the cabbage above it, 

" I did my best," says Gershuni, ^ not to 
utter a sound, but, on the contrary, to keep 
as quiet as possible, I eagerly breathed in 
the damp, cold air and dr:mk the wine and 
ether 1 KaricwitM term I tried to look around, 




but could see absolutely nothing, the dark- 
ness being intense. Suddenly I heard steps 
and saw the cover of the entrance being 
opened, and someone's legs protruding down- 
wards. For a moment I thought to hide 
myself again in the barrel, not being certain 
who was the visitor. Whilst thus hesitating, 
and not being able in the dim light pene- 
trating through the opening to see whose legs 
they were, I suddenly heard a whisper : ' It 
is I ! ' 

"This was the voice of a friend coming 
to help in my deliverance, and I greeted 
him with a knife in one hand and a bottle 
of wine in the other. 

" l Is everything right, friend ? ' I asked 

11 ' Yes, yes. Come, quick ! Follow me.' 

" We took from the barrel my new costume, 
which was quite soaked in the pickle liquor, 
and tied round the barrel a cloak prepared 
beforehand, so that in case anyone came in 
he should not notice the half-empty barrel at 
once. A few steps and we were both in the 
upper cellar, shutting the lower cellar behind 
us. We came to the spot where the boards 
were cut through, I in front and my com- 
panion behind, he putting back the boards in 
their place as if nothing had happened. 
'To the left/ he whispered, and 1 saw a 
narrow hole through the foundation, and for a 
moment I shuddered ; then I began to crawl. 
The tunnel was some twenty steps long, and 
when about at the middle I suddenly found 
that I could move neither ahead nor back- 
wards. I struggled forward, turning myself 
in all directions, and finally we reached a point 
a few yards from the exit. 

" Here we made a halt, and looking at my 
watch I saw it was just nine o'clock — that is, 
about half an hour since the journey from 
the prison commenced. It was, of course, 
necessary to make the exit without any delay, 
as at any moment my absence might be 
noticed in the prison. From our |>osition we 
could see the corner of the houses of the 
governor and the officials. We heard -voices 
of passers-by who could easily have noticed 
us if only their attention had been attracted 
to the mouth of the tunnel. We lay and 
waited for the prearranged signals. The first 
signal came, 'The road is occupied.' Then 
another signal to the same effect. We heard 
steps and saw leather boots, by which we 
recognised a warder. If only he had accident- 
ally bent to look at his feet, what a reward he 
would have received for his discovery ! But 
he passed on, and another signal bade us to 
continue lying where we were. 

Digitized by Google 

"Suddenly we heard children's voices shout- 
ing, 'Catch him! Catch him!' Jn a few 
seconds a little dog, which we recognised 
as that of the superintendent's children, came 
running and stopped just at the hole, looking 
at us with bewilderment. A very nasty 
incident indeed. Either he would com- 
mence barking, or the children would come 
to the spot of their own accord. 

" We fixed our eyes upon the dog with 
intense expression, as we had heard stories 
of the possibility of silencing animals by a 
fixed stare. And, indeed, the dog stared 
back for some seconds, sniffed the air, and 
drew a breath of relief as if to say, 'This is 
your business, gentlemen ; it does not con- 
cern me at all.' Then he turned and ran 
back to the children. 

" I always love the ringing voices and 
laughter of children, but on this occasion I 
was only too glad to hear how they gradually 
died away in the distance. 

"Now there was quiet, but in a few minutes 
again steps were heard. A water-carrier with 
his yoke and two empty pails passed by, and 
suddenly 1 shuddered from a thought that, 
on his return, he would have his head bowed 
under his burden, with his eyes downwards, 
and would be sure to notice the hole in the 
ground. A thousand similar thoughts flashed 
through my mind, the one prevailing thought 
being, how could it be otherwise? Was it 
not madness to believe that all the various 
circumstances would shape themselves favour- 
ably, and that even after we had left the 
tunnel in broad daylight no one would 
notice us? 

" But evidently this time the gods them- 
selves willed it that nothing should happen 
to us. The water carrier did not notice us 
on his way back. Everything became quiet 
again, but the signals continued mercilessly : 
' Don't move.' 

" I looked at my watch. We had been 
lying and waiting only about twenty minutes, 
which, however, seemed an eternity. 

" Suddenly the signal changed. We could 
scarcely believe our eyes. Was it really 
possible ? Yes, the signal unmistakably 
spoke : ' Everything is all right. Come out ! ' 

" Like a shot we jumped out of the tunnel, 
then with slow steps, in an innocent manner, 
we walked away to a spot where a comrade 
was to meet us and hand me over money, a 
passport, and a revolver." 

Gershuni was' now free, but, of course, far 
from being safe from a recapture at any 
moment. He had to pass a couple of miles 
over a snow-covered plain exposed in all 




directions and overlooked by the prison 
buildings on the hill, as well as by some 
twenty front windows of the houses of the 
governor and the overseers. But nothing 
happened. Crossing the hills in front, the 
two conspirators disappeared from sight } and 
now walked some distance until they met the 
sledge and driver who had been waiting for 
them at an appointed spot from an early 
hour in the morning. Here Gershuni took 
the warmest farewell of his companion, who 
had to return to Akatui, and started on the 
still dangerous journey by roundabout ways 
until he reached a town where friends were 
expecting him, having prepared beforehand 

a safe place for hiding him until the heat o! 
the pursuit should be over. 

Gershuni now prepared to leave by train 
for an Eastern port and thence to depart for 

"I found it best," he says, ''to dress 
myself as a typical beggar, and when I 
looked at myself in the mirror I was simply 
delighted. A perfectly natural tramp, with 
the bundle of clothes at the back, and so 
forth, all complete. At the station I was 
punched by a gendarme, who shouted at me : 
'Out of the way" you dirty wretch,' And oh ! 
who would believe that there are circum- 
stances in which a punch in your side gives 







you only pleasure and raises your spirits to 
enthusiasm ? During the journey, whenever 
anyone swore at me as a 'dirty beggar/ his 
words rang in my ears like heavenly music." 

The journey by railway lasted some five 
days, and except for the peculiar " heavenly 
music" now and again bestowed upon the 
fugitive everything went off smoothly. A 
dangerous moment was that of the embarka- 
tion on a Russian vessel for Nagasaki. For 
at the port special vigilance is kept over all 
passengers sailing f >r Japan, and it was here 
that Muishkin and Khrusfttsheff were re- 
captured when they had covered about two 
thousand miles after their escape from the 
Kara prison in April, 1882. Indeed, the 
danger had not passed for Gershuni all the 
time he remained on the Russian steamer, 
until he actually stepped on to Japanese soil. 

What happened at Akatui Prison after this 
unparalleled escape is no less exciting read- 
ing. Gershuni's strategy of purposely showing 
himself to the chief warders just a few minutes 
before entering the barrel and making arrange- 
ments with them for " to-morrow " proved very 
successful, as they thought of him no more 
the whole day. Meanwhile, preparations pre- 
viously begun were now completed for deceiv- 
ing, if possible, the officer who was to make the 
evening inspection of the cells. If Gershuni's 
absence could be concealed at the evening 
roll-call the fugitive would have at his dis- 
posal the whole night for his flight, and pro 
bably also the next day, as the morning 
inspection is less severe than the evening one, 
and the concealment then was far easier. 

To attain this object a Dutch cheese was 
procured, and one of the prisoners, evidently 
a born sculptor, succeeded in making a bust 
of it, shaped into a plausible resemblance 
of the head and face of our hero. This was 
attached to a dummy and placed in the 
fugitive's bed. Gershuni had been kept in a 
cell with several other political prisoners, who, 
as a rule, are wont to spend their leisure in 
loud and heated debates on various topics of 
politics, philosophy, science, and literature, 
gesticulating with their hands, and frequently 
getting into a real passion' and shouting 
at the top of their voices. 

Thus, just before the officer opened the 
door of the cell for the inspection, a comrade 
arranged quite a ventriloquial scene beside 
Gershuni's bed. Addressing the dummy in 
vehement debating tones, he proceeded : — 

" Don't you see, my dear Gregory Andreie 
vitch, an eclipse of the sun affects the upper 
nebula in such a way that " 

Digitized by dOOQle 

One or two of the other comrades stood at 
the bed pretending to listen attentively to 
this astronomical argument, but the officer 
had no taste or time for such discussions, 
and, standing at the door, he only noticed 
that all the inmates were present. He then 
made the formal roll-call, every one by his 
name, to which apparently all duly replied, 
Gershuni's voice being imitated by the im- 
provised ventriloquist. The officer locked 
the door, and a sigh of relief was uttered by 
those present. A whole night gained at 
least, and probably the next day too ; this 
was very important. 

However, in about an hour another officer, 
who was sometimes fond of having a con- 
versation with Gershuni, came into the cell 
with the innocent object of spending a little 
time with his favourite prisoner. It was 
impossible to prevent him from approaching 
the bed and making the awful discovery. 

What followed in the prison it is impossible 
to describe. Gershuni was considered as 
"the most dangerous" of all the members 
of "The Fighting Organization," and his 
escape, of all others, meant the utter disgrace 
of the new governor of Akatui Prison. 
The whole night the prison was turned 
upside down, and every cottage of the adjacent 
■" Free Colony " was searched, but not the 
slightest trace of the escape and how it was 
effected could be found. To search the 
cellar in the courtyard of the house of the 
governor himself, of course, could not occur 
to anyone. When, later on, the half-empty 
barrel with the pickled cabbage, gutta-percha 
tubes, and two round boles in the bottom was 
discovered, the general belief of the prison 
authorities was that this was arranged only 
with the object of diverting attention from 
the real means of the escape, which remained 
a mystery for a long time, until the broken 
foundation of the cellar and the tunnel were 
at last accidentally discovered. 

The central police department in St. 
Petersburg, on learning of this escape, imme- 
diately wired all over Russia to governors of 
provinces, heads of gendarmerie, rural chiefs, 
and frontier guards, giving a full description 
of the fugitive with his characteristic slight 
lameness, and enjoining his immediate arrest. 
The result was that four Gershunis were at 
once simultaneously found and arrested in 
four different places, the real Gershuni being 
at that time already comfortably ensconced 
in a house in Nagasaki. 

A noteworthy feature of the whole story of 
the escape is the fact that the preparations 
were well known to all the inmates of 

-.- 1 M_| II I ■.11 TTQ ITI 







Akatui Prison, including the depraved com* 
mon criminals, Yet none of them betrayed 
the secret, for which, no doubt, a heavy 
reward would have been given. 

And what is one to think or say of Ger- 
shunrs fellow-prisoners, who, having had their 
punishment considerably reduced and being 
allowed to settle in the M Free Colony " out- 
side the prison, once more voluntarily risked 
their very lives in digging the tunnel to the 
cellar, and even passing through it twice, as 
his companion did on the very day of the 
escape, with only too much likelihood of being 
killed themselves along with the comrade 

by CjC 


whom they desired to save for the good a\ 
44 the cause w ? 

Truly, whatever one may think of the 
cause itself, one cannot fail to be struck by 
the extraordinary characters of those who 
champion and are ready to lay down their 
lives for it 

Gershuni is now free and more active in 
the revolutionary cause than ever before. 
Who can say what [>art he may still play in 
the future destinies of his native Russia, 
seeing that he is just in the very prime of life 
and full of that heroic spirit and fanatica* 
faith which lead either to laurels or to thorns ? 

Original from 




HE advance of photography 
seems- to suggest to some 
people serious danger to the 
art of jxjrtrakure. To their 
minds the artist who draws 
and paints human features 
lingers superfluous upon the world's stage 
when by means of the camera equally good 
and even better results, as regards form and 
colour, can be obtained with so much less 
e.\[>enditure of time and labour. If we do 
not take quite so positive a view as this, it is 
doubtless a question with many of us whether, 
after all, a better " likeness " cannot be 
assured from the inexpensive photograph than 
from the costly artist's portrait. This doubt 
would certainly have been strengthened by a 
visit to the Royal Photographic Salon, held 
recently at the New Gallery, where some of 
the exhibits revealed almost unsuspected 
possibilities on the part of the camera and 
its most up-to-date adjuncts. 

With a view of putting the matter to an 
interesting test, The Strand Magazine 
selected four specimens of the skill of one of 

Digitized by VjOOQK 

our leading photographers in portraiture, at 
the same time inviting an artist of reputation 
in each case to make a drawing or painting 
of the same subject. The result is to he 
seen in these pages, the work of artist and 
photographer being given side by side, while 
the views of both are embodied in the 
following interesting interviews- 
Mr, Stan laws readily admitted that the 
lady in his oil-painting looked quite unlike 
the lady in the coloured photograph, and 
then proceeded to vindicate the difference, 

In the first place, he pointed out, a paint- 
ing has what an artist calls " values" — fine 
gradations of light and shade— which are 
wanting in a photograph, where the camera 
simply records black and white. In the 
photograph nothing is left to the imagination ; 
all is definite and clear cut. In his painting 
Mr. Stanlaws has given to the face "a touch 
of mystery," according to the impression it 
made upon him. 

Descending from the general to the par- 
ticular, the artist pointed out that the lady's 
hair was really brown, as painted, this colour 
Original from 




Bj? *Penrh$n Stantates* 

Vol. K A XV. —11, 




Tt$ Gilbert Holiday 

5y Google 

nginal from 



■By W. C. Symons, 

Tal from 




Bj> 'Bassano. Old Bond Street 





Bv Va! HaVers. 



2 •* 

Original from 



coming out black with a bluish sheen in the 
photograph. Then he had made the nose 
smaller in proportion to the rest of the face, 
this feature being nearly always exaggerated 
in a photograph, as the result of the wrong 
perspective due to the focusing of the camera. 
The same cause sometimes produced ludicrous 
results in photography when an arm or a foot 
was projecting, but the disproportion of the 
projecting nose usually passed unnoticed. 
Comparing the photograph with the painting 
in this case, however, it would seem that it 
materially affected the contour of the face. 

Between the mouth as painted and photo- 
graphed there is a marked difference, but this 
is simply because the photographer has given 
his sitter the liberty of a smile, of which the 
painter, not caring for the consequent revela- 
tion of her teeth, has deprived her. Mr. 
Stanlaws further suggested that the mouth 
has undergone the process known as "re- 
touching," with a result, in his opinion, which 
is at variance with the facts of anatomy, the 
muscles of the jaw being " impossible }y as 
depicted. In " retouching " a photographer, 
by the limitation of his art, can have but 
little regard for anatomy. If "retouching" 
is done with the knowledge and skill of 
a painter the photograph, of course, may 
become more of a painting than a photo- 
graph. That "retouching" should ever be 
considered necessary — except, perhaps, for 
the purpose of flattering the vanity of a sitter 
— is in itself an admission of the inadequacy 
of the camera to give a faithful rendering of 
the human features. 

For the rest, it will be seen that the girl, as 
painted, has discarded the vine-leaves in her 
hair. This was a decorative effect devised 
by the photographer, which, as he explains, 
did not appeal to the painter, who has, more- 
over, slightly rearranged the luxuriant tresses. 
Nor has he thought it desirable to introduce 
into his picture the upper part of the dress. 
As photographed Mr. Stanlaws thought the 
bodice made an ugly line, and as he was 
simply painting a portrait of the face it is 
omitted altogether. 

It will now be readily understood, I think, 
why in this instance the product of the brush 
so little resembles that of the camera. But 
it must not be supposed from this explanation 
that Mr. Stanlaws disdains the photographic 
art. On the contrary, he finds it very useful 
in his own work. As a portrait-painter he 
frequently has a photograph taken of his 
sitter in the same pose as he is to be painted, 
especially when the sitter is a busy man like 
Sir William Treloar, the ex-Lord Mayor of 

Vol. xxxv.— 12 


London, upon whose portrait in his robes 
of office he was at the moment engaged. 
In such cases, when few sittings can be 
arranged, a photograph is often valuable as a 
work of reference and an aid to the^memory. 
" But, of course, it sometimes leads to 
errors," the artist adds, "which have to be 
corrected at the next sitting." 

In contrast to the case of Mr. Stanlaws, 
the drawing by Mr. C. G. Holiday bears a 
remarkable resemblance to the photograph 
of the lady depicted. This may be partly 
due to the fact that Mr. Holiday's medium 
was chalk, whilst the former artist used oils. 
But the main reason was frankly given by 
Mr. Holiday when he declared that in regard 
to pose and manner he found nothing to 
alter in the work of the photographer. 

"It is an excellent photograph in every 
respect. At the first glance I should have 
taken it to be a reproduction of one of 
Romney's pictures. But it only shows that 
a good photograph in artistic hands is better 
than a poor drawing or painting by an artist 
who lacks imagination and understanding. 
A good drawing will possess an individuality 
and a vitality, however, which must be wanting 
in the best of photographs. 

" It is difficult to define this difference 
between the photographer and the artist. 
Perhaps I can best explain it by an illustra- 
tion. The music of the pianola is infinitely 
better than that of the piano when played by 
a poor pianist. The pianola renders the 
music just as the camera renders Nature, 
with accuracy and exactitude. But can there 
be any comparison between its performance 
and that of a piano under the fingers of an 
excellent musician? At the same time, the 
musician will get out of the pianola much 
more than the player who has little or no 
knowledge of music — finer shades of feeling 
and deeper meanings. It is just the same 
with photography in relation to pictorial art. 
As the pianola cannot supersede the pianist, 
so the photographer cannot take the place of 
the artist." 

Mr. W. Christian Symons, the author of 
the third portrait, whom I saw at his country 
home in Sussex, demurred to my submitting 
the question as one of art versus photography. 

" There should be no clashing," he 
declared, " between the two, for each has its 
own purpose and use. A photograph is a 
photograph, and is not really comparable 
with a painting or a drawing at all. The 
camera is simply a piece of mechanism in 
combination with certain chemicals ; it has 
neither eyes to see nor ears to hear. An 

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artist, on the other hand, in handling pencil 
or brush works with his eyes, ears, heart, and 
brain — he puts the whole of himself into 
what he is doing. It follows that half-a-dozen 
artists producing portraits of the same indi- 
vidual will record different personal impres- 
sions, presenting him to us under various 
aspects. But they will be pictures of the 
same man, true to life, like him as he is seen 
at some time or other. 

" You remember Sargent's portrait of Mr. 
Wertheimer, the art dealer, in the Academy 
some years ago ? A few months after I had 
seen it I met Mr. Wertheimer for the first 
time. Remembering the picture, I knew at 
once who it was, not simply as regards his 
personal appearance, but also as to his 
manner, character, and ways of thinking and 
feeling. A photograph of Mr. Wertheimer 
could only have recorded the facts as to his 
physique and dress; the portrait gave me 
an understanding of the whole personality 
of the man. 

" With regard to this girl's photograph, we 
have similarly presented only certain facts, 
showing that she is a pretty girl dressed in a 
certain style. But as to her character and 
disposition, what can it tell us ? All that can 
be seen is a certain want of — what shall I 
say? — the air of good breeding. But this 
was probably due to self-consciousness, in- 
duced by posing for a minute or so as she 
faced the camera. I often think the happiest 
results in photography— that is, as regards 
portraiture — are obtained by amateurs' snap- 
shots when people are ' taken ' quite un- 

" In my drawing I have endeavoured to 
bring out the refinement of the girl's nature 
— and this explains everything which may be 
different in the appearance of the photo- 
graph. Apart from this, I have followed 
closely every detail. It is in giving delicacy 
as well as prettiness to such a face that the 
photographer might be expected to fail and 
the artist to succeed." 

In further illustration of his point, Mr. 
Symons showed me a portrait he had recently 
completed of a young Frenchman. He is 
wealthy, scientific, learned, strenuous in his 
life, and yet — very pious. " I am sure he is 
religious, with such eyes ! " exclaimed a lady 
to whom Mr. Symons was showing the 
canvas. "When she said this," added the 
artist, " I was very pleased, because I felt 
that I had succeeded in depicting this side 
of the young man's character." 

To give photography its due, Mr. Symons 
showed me, just before I said good-bye, some 


inscriptions on ancient monuments which 
could never have been deciphered but for 
the aid of the camera. "In many such 
ways," said he, "photography is, of course, 
invaluable ; but as a rival to art — no, it is 

"It is absurd to speak of photography as 
an art," protested Mr. Val Havers. " In the 
main it is simply a piece of mechanism. In 
one sense the camera may be more exact 
than the eye. An artist, no doubt, uncon- 
sciously alters what he sees in accordance 
with his own mental conception of the model. 
There are two schools of portrait-painters, and 
this process differs between artists who belong 
to one or the other of them. In the one 
school, of which Mr. Sargent may be regarded 
as the most distinguished member, the purpose 
is to discover the most characteristic expres- 
sion and then paint it as strongly as possible. 
In the other, of which Mr. Ellis Roberts 
may be mentioned as an example, the object 
is to paint the sitter at his or her best 
physically, character being considered as of 
little or no importance. 

" As I have said, the camera may record 
more correctly than the eye. But the strain 
of posing to a photographer usually prevents 
the reproduction of either the most character- 
istic expression or the best physical attributes. 
An artist often experiences the same difficulty, 
but a sitter is usually more at ease after the 
first two or three sittings, and, in any case, he 
can work from memory at his picture between 
the sittings." 

"There are several points of difference, 
Mr. Havers, between your portrait in crayons 
and the photograph. How would you explain 

" Well, in the first place, the camera always 
turns flesh-colour into a heavy grey. This 
accounts for the dark face of the child in the 
photograph compared with its light colouring 
in my sketch. Then I have altered the 
curve of the lady's shoulder, which was raised 
in an ungraceful fashion, and given the 
child's face a different angle from that of 
her mother. Then the child is obviously 
cuddling her mother, and, that being so, she 
would not naturally clasp the roses on the 
lady's dress in the way that she is represented 
as doing in the photograph ; hence another 
little alteration. Another point which struck 
me about the photograph as artistically 
untrue were the waste yards of white drapery 
— and so I have cut off a good deal. 

" It is to be remembered," said Mr. Havers, 
in conclusion, " that portraiture is a restricted 
form of art, leaving comparatively little scope 




to the artist's imagination and creative power. 
And a painting or drawing usually loses more 
in reproduction than a photograph, For this 
reason a painter whose work is mainly for 
reproduction, like that of my father, Mr, Fred 
Morgan, has always to keep this fact in view 
in the execution of a picture by giving it an 
equality of surface, to its detriment as an 
original work, but to its great improvement in 
the form of reproduction/' 

No summing-up of the view thus expressed 
by these four artists is necessary. Although 
the argument is illustrated and enforced in 
various ways it has the same conclusion — the 
superiority of the brush or the pencil over 
the cnmera in the representation of a manor 
a woman. Whether the conclusion is justified 
by the comparative examples of art and 
photography here given, readers of The 
Strand Magazine must judge for them 

It may be thought desirable, however, that 
the photographer's point of view should also 
be given. 

" There is a great deal of truth in what 
they say," confessed the manager of BassanoU 
Limited, when 
h i s attention 
was called to 
the artists' 
statem ents, 
* ( concerning 
the limitations 
of photography, 
although one 
or two of their 
remarks I con- 
sider somewhat 
Mr. Stanlaws 
imputes ignor- 
ance of ana- 
tomy to the 
* retoucher ' ; 
much 're- 
touching/ no 
doubt, is done 
with this 

ignorance, but in this particular case the 
remark, I believe, was unjust. Nowadays a 
considerable amount of an artist's knowledge 
is put into photographs of this kind, and 
there is as much difference between them 
and the poorest class of photography as 
between the work of a Royal Academician 
and that of the worst ' pot boiler,' 

** R.A/s have sometimes applied to us 
for permission to use our photographs as the 
bases of pictures ; they have admired the 
pose and the composition so much. And 
the other day a firm of publishers, wanting a 
picture for a book-cover they were bringing 
out, asked us to compose and photograph a 
little sea-shore scene, with a group of figures \ 
a few years ago such a piece of work would 
necessarily have had to be given to an 

"There is one disadvantage in portrait 
work which the photographer suffers from as 
tompared with the painter. At the most he 
is given only an hour's sitting in which to do 
his work, and it is often impossible to get the 
best out of a sitter, especially if it is a lady, 
in the time, She adopts a conscious pose, 

and will not 
Met herself 
go p and show 
herself at 
her best* We 
have photo- 
graphed ac- 
tresses a num- 
ber of times, 
and every 
time the ope- 
rator will see 
different about 
the sitter. The 
first picture 
may have been 
a comj>arative 
failure, but after 
a time he is 
sure of getting 
a good result." 

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Original from 



OM MACEY glanced across 
the room at his wife from 
under his thick eyebrows as 
if he were ashamed of some- 
thing. He was not usually 
given to the things that men 
regret, and just at that moment his thoughts 
were none the less bitter because he really 
had done nothing to be ashamed of. And 
now he was actually hesitating at the very 
time when he ought not to have given the 
matter a single thought. He would have 
condemned this hesitation in any other man, 

and yet, and yet, and yet 

First of all, there was the child to be 
thought of. She was the only one — a little 
girl of some four years of age, and the apple 
of Tom Macey's eye. She ought to have 
been strong and healthy enough, seeing that 
both Macey and his wife were made of the 
stern stuff which has laid the foundation of 
the British Empire. They were willing and 
ready enough to share privations together, 
and they had done so more than once before 
now. But somehow the child was different. 
Most of the youngsters thrive in the keen, 
dry air there beneath the snows of the 
Colorado Rockies, but somehow or another 
it was not the same with little Vera. And 
the only doctor for a hundred miles around 
had told Macey that if his daughter was 
not taken away to a milder climate she 
would die. 

It was easy enough to say this, but how 
was the matter to be brought about ? Macey 
had been mining away up there in One Tree 
Gulch for the last two years with the most 
execrable luck. He had all the sanguine 
temperament which goes to the gold pro- 
spector. He was holding on desperately 
with a feeling that his turn would come at 
last. The man was not without imagination ; 
he was more impressed by local traditions and 
Indian legends than he would have cared to 
admit. He had studied these until he knew 
them by heart. There were stories to the 

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effect that here and there, on rare occasions 
in the past, diamonds had been found in 
some of the canyons away under the spurs of 
those everlasting hills. Certainly Macey had 
found here and there a deposit of blue earth 
which suggested the presence of the most 
rare of all precious stones. And then his 
luck had changed, and he found them. 

And they were only three, but they were 
diamonds right enough ; Macey knew that, for 
back in the years of his youth he had spent 
some time in the Transvaal, and he knew a 
diamond when he saw it. He found no 
more ; he had not expected any farther 
dazzling luck like this ; but he was well 
satisfied, for here, if he sold his stones to 
the best advantage, was a matter of twenty 
thousand pounds. It was not a large fortune, 
but, at any rate, it was big enough to ensure 
luxury and comfort in the future — big enough 
to enable Macey and his wife to get away 
farther South and save the life of the child. 
All these things Macey had talked over with 
Nell in the evenings. Their plans were fairly 
forward now. And then the doctor had 
stepped in with a peremptory command that 
the child was not to be moved until the 
weather got warmer. 

Macey heard the news in his tranquil, 
emotionless way, but it hurt him all the same. 
He knew perfectly well what the doctor 
meant. It was going to be a close call with 
the little one. If they could tide over the 
next two or three weeks the balmy breath of 
spring would be here and the terrible danger 
might be averted. The doctor might come 
along at any time now and utter his final 

But this was not the only trouble. Good- 
ness knows how, but the rumour got 
abroad that Tom Macey had found some 
diamonds and that they were hidden in his 
hut. The arm of the law in those parts was 
fitful and feeble enough, and more than once 
during the past two days Macey had had a 
warning as to the danger of keeping those 

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valuables in a log hut amongst the snows 
miles away from the nearest habitation. There 
were three lawless scamps hanging about the 
neighbourhood, and up to a certain point 
Macey had said nothing of this to his wife. 
But returning home that night in the dusk a 
revolver bullet had pierced a hole in Macey's 
fur cap, and he knew now that the time had 
come when he must either run or fight. 

In the ordinary way he would not have 
hesitated for a moment. There was nothing 
of the coward about him, but he was a 
married man, and he knew well enough when 
discretion was the better part of valour. Here 
he was tied by the leg by a cruel fate ; here 
he was waiting for the doctor's last words, 
and his life in danger all the time. He might 
have compromised matters ; he might have 
allowed himself to be robbed : but the mere 
thought of that sent the blood boiling through 
his veins and brought his teeth together. 

He sat there thinking the matter out. He 
had told his wife. It was almost impossible 
to keep anything from her, and, despite all 
Macey's assumption of cheerfulness, Nell had 
seen at once that something was radically 

"And now you know all about it, little 
girl," Macey said. " It is very hard. I can't 
understand how those chaps got to know." 

" You haven't told me who they are," Mrs. 
Macey said. 

" Haven't I ? I think you can guess. 
There's Dick Blake and Ned Carson and 
Long Jim. If you searched the whole of 
the American Continent you couldn't find 
three greater scoundrels than these. And, 
you see, they have got nothing to be afraid 
of. There's no law here. Why, those three 
scoundrels might raid this hut any time, and 
murder the lot of us. And they would, too, 
if they weren't just a little bit afraid of my 
revolver. It isn't for myself that I mind ; 
it's you and the kiddie. Of course, I might 
go down to Dolvertown and lodge the stones 
there. I could get there in a couple of days ; 
but, then, suppose the doctor comes when I 
am away ; suppose he wants something in a 
hurry. You can't do it. I tell you when I 
think of it my blood fairly boils. If we could 
only get away and sell those stones we should 
have plenty of money in future. We could 
take the child with us away down South, 
where she could grow well and strong again. 
You see what a dilemma I am in now. If I 
go now, and there is no man about when the 
doctor comes, little Vera may die. If I stay 
here we may be murdered in our beds by 
those three ruffians. It is maddening to 

by L^OOgle 

think that health and prosperity are so near 
and yet so far away. I have thought and 
thought till my head aches. And, so far as I 
can see, there is only one thing to do, and 
that is to grin and bear it." 

" If you were to hide the stones," Nell 

u My dear girl, what is the good of that? 
It wouldn't prevent those skunks from shoot- 
ing me on sight, or you either, for the matter 
of that." 

Macey sank into sullen silence. As his 
wife watched him anxiously a brilliant idea 
came to her. 

" Tom," she cried, " why shouldn't I go ? 
What is to prevent me from slipping away 
and getting as far as Dolvertown ? I know 
the road well enough ; it is only a matter of 
some twenty miles, and I could walk it 
between now and to-morrow evening. You 
know how strong and hearty I am ; you know 
that nothing hurts me, and there is not 
enough snow to constitute danger. Give me 
the stones. Let me hide them. I suppose 
those three ruffians are watching the house 
all the time, and if they see you here in the 
morning they will naturally conclude that I 
am in the hut too. Now, don't say * No,' 
Tom. Why, I have gone farther than this 
before now to help a neighbour in trouble, 
and you haven't been in the least anxious 
about me. Do let me go." 

Macey shook his head resolutely. He 
would not hear a word of such a mad 
project. Besides, it seemed such a cowardly 
thing to send his wife away upon an errand 
which he could not or dare not undertake 
himself. He would have run the risk of a 
journey to Dolvertown and back, but when 
he thought of the child lying there restless 
and uneasy with the fever upon her, his heart 
turned to water within him and all his man- 
liness vanished, leaving him trembling and 
nervous. And yet he could not find it in his 
mind to purchase life and peace of mind by 
the sacrifice of those stones for which he had 
toiled so hard and long. 

" I don't like it," he said. " Besides " 

"There is no other way," Nell went on, 
breathlessly. "Think what it all means to 
us. If I am successful in my errand — and 
there is no reason why I should not be — we 
shall be rich, we shall be able to take Vera 
away, we shall be able to turn our backs on 
this hateful life for ever. And if we stay here 
we shall lose everything. What would it 
matter to me, what would anything matter, if 
the child were to die? And by this time 
to-morrow everything will be safe. You will 




be able to go about and say that you have 
banked your diamonds, and those three 
rascals will be powerless for further harm. 
Oh, you must let me go." 

Once more Macey shook his head, but he 
was weakening now, as Nell could see from 
the look in his eyes. 

" I don't like it," he repeated, dubiously. 

He crossed the room and opened the door 
and looked out into the night The air was 
soft and balmy ; the cruel, cold breath of it 
had vanished before the oncoming of the 
spring. The earth smelt warm and damp. 
There was a subtle fragrance in the gently 
swaying pines. It looked as if no more snow 
was likely to fall. It looked as if the journey 
to Dolvertown would be safe enough, if only 
those three lurking demons were in bed and 
asleep. Beyond a doubt, if they had seen 
Nell Macey leave the hut, they would follow 
her, guessing easily enough what her errand 

But there was no sign outside, nothing but 
the breath of the wind whispering to the 
pines that spring was at hand ; nothing but 
the smell of the good red earth still crisp and 
firm under its thin powder of snow. And 
Nell was a good walker, too ; she could hold 
her own in a long day's hunting and fishing ; 
she would make light of a tramp as far as 

" You are going to let me go ? " she 

" God forgive me if anything happens to 
you," Macey said, under his breath. " I 
suppose it is all for the best. You ought to 
reach the new camp at Byson River by eleven 
o'clock to-morrow morning, and when you 
get there try and find Patrick Walsh. I know 
he is down there somewhere, and you can 
trust him, too. I met him once some three 
years ago, and I was in a position to do him 
a bit of a favour. If you do get into any 
sort of trouble there is no one man on the 
American Continent who can help you as 
Patrick Walsh can. But you know what he 
is like." 

Nell nodded eagerly. Everybody on the 
Continent, from the Rockies right down to 
the Pacific Slope, had heard of Patrick 
Walsh. He was by way of being an adven- 
turer, a miner, a prospector, anything where 
danger lay and trouble was to be found first 
hand. There were spots on the map of 
America, now prosperous towns, which Walsh 
had actually founded. With all his courage 
and resource, with all his infinite talents, he 
had remained a poor man, a typical instance 
of the rolling stone that gathers no moss. 

But his reputation was clean enough. He 
was a terror to evildoers; there was not a 
bully or bravado in half-a-dozen States who 
would have dared to stand up to Pat Walsh • 
single-handed. More than one unspeakable 
outcast and cold-blooded murderer had been 
tracked down by Walsh for the pure joy of 
the thing. He had broken up gangs with 
the aid of nothing but his own revolver, and 
with it all he was a quiet, civil-spoken little 
man, looking the very last person in the 
world to hold a reputation such as his. If 
Nell Macey could find a friend like this, 
then she was safe indeed. 

The stars were shining overhead in great 
glittering clusters behind the belt of pines as 
she set out upon her journey. Here and 
there she could dimly make out the snow 
lying in white battalions above the murmur- 
ing belts of trees. Here and there was a 
stirring in the undergrowth, and something 
like fear filled her heart when she thought of 
her child and her husband. But she went on 
steadily forward through the dim blackness 
of the night, until at length the east began to 
grow faintly purple, then pink, then burning 
saffron, as the sun climbed over the shoulders 
of the great snow-clad peaks and cast long 
shadows across the plain. 

It was nearly nine o'clock before Nell 
came, footsore and weary, to a little mining 
camp by the Byson River. A handful of 
little huts were dotted on the hillside. Some 
adventurous trader had set up a saloon ; here 
was the inevitable "store" from which the 
necessities of life could be derived. It was 
getting warmer now — so warm, indeed, that 
one or two of the miners were sitting outside 
the house breakfasting in the open. The 
pine-laden air reeked with the smell of frying 
bacon. They were not a nice-looking lot of 
men, not at all the class that Nell had 
been accustomed to, for they were beyond 
the borders of civilization here, and the sort 
of individuals who came and went for the 
most part bore names which would have con- 
veyed nothing to their parents before them. 
It was not the sort of camp where it was safe 
to inquire too closely into the antecedents of 
one's next-door neighbour. The few men 
gathered there eyed Nell with languid and 
slightly insolent curiosity. She would have 
moved on, but she was not more than half- 
way on her journey yet, and she knew the 
necessity of rest and food before she 
proceeded farther. 

It was no nice thing to have to push her 
way into the store to procure bread and 
biscuits and tinned meat, but it had to be 

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■-■I I l-| I I I Kl I II 1 ! 




done, and then she sat down by the wayside 
to eat. One or two of the miners gathered 
round her, staring at her in a long, cool 
deliberation, which brought the blood flaming 
to her cheeks. One, more hardy than the 
rest, ventured to address her in words which 
brought the blood to her temples again and 
caused the angry tears to rise to her eyes. 
She was looking round for something in the 
semblance of manhood who might drive these 
hideous wretches away and give her the 
seclusion which she so much desired. Then 
out of the saloon opposite came a slight, fair 
man, dressed in a somewhat superior manner 
to the rest, who took off his hat politely and 
asked in quite a small voice if he could be 
of any assistance. A chorus of raucous laughter 
greeted this un- 
wonted courtesy. 
In spite of her 
anger and alarm 
Nell smiled. It was 
much as if some boy 
had chosen to defy 
all the weight and 
force of authority, 

"You are vastly 
kind," Nell said 
" I am on my way 
to Dolvertown. I 
suppose those men 
mean nothing 
offensive, but if you 
could persuade 
them to go away I 
should be obliged 
to you. J ' 

By way of reply 
the fair little man 
took a seat by her 
side. What he 
might have said 
Nell had no oppor- 
tunity of judging, 
for at that moment 
there came the 
sound of hoofs 
beating on the hard 
road, and three 
horsemen came 
at a trot into the 
camp. At the 
sight of the fore- 
most Nell's face 
turned ashy grey. 
She gave a little cry 
of dismay which 
was not lost upon 
her companion. 

" You are frightened," he murmured, softly, 

" Oh, yes," Nell said, hoarsely, " Those 
men are following me* I hoped that I had 
escaped them ; I hoped that they had not 
guessed why I am on my way to Dolvertown, 
You see, I have valuables in my possession — 

The words slipped from Nell's lips uncon- 
sciously. It was madness, perhaps, to trust 
this stranger, but for the life of her she could 
not help it. And what avail would he be 
against the grinning trio who had already dis- 
mounted from their horses and stood regard- 
ing her with an evil smirk upon three of 
the most infamous countenances that the 
Continent of America might produce? 

" I know," the slim stranger murmured. 

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riginal from 



" You are Tom Macey's wife. Do you know, 
you are the pluckiest woman 1 have ever 
come across. So you are going to Dolver- 
town with those stones, are you ? I guess a 
courageous action like yours is worth better 
luck than this. If I were alone I should 
know what to do. As it is — well, I'll try my 
best. Now, then ! " 

The last two words were flung contemptu- 
ously in the direction of the three horsemen. 
They came with a rasping sound from the 
stranger's lips. They were hard and clear 
and defiant, and so full of a certain con- 
crete courage that Nell, despite her alarm, 
turned to her companion with a glance of 

The foremost horseman came forward ; his 
long, muscular form seemed to tower above 
the two sitting on the pine-logs there. There 
was not much to choose between those 
associates, but Nell knew from common 
report that, if one was worse than the others, 
it was the same Long Jim who was now 
addressing the man by her side. 

" Stranger," he said, with a sneering drawl, 
" I guess you'll find this atmosphere isn't 
conducive to the health of a little man like 
you. Now you just run away back to 
mamma and tell her that Ixmg Jim sent you. 
Otherwise " 

A burst of ribald laughter came from the 
other two. The slight, fair man sitting by 
Nell's side never so much as changed a line 
of his countenance. 

" I've heard of you," he said. " Perhaps 
you will be so good as to introduce me to 
the other gentlemen. I was told I should 
find some choice rascality in this neighbour- 
hood, and it seems to me that I am not going 
to be disappointed." 

"You do me proud," Long Jim grinned. 
" This gentleman is Dick Blake, and the 
nobleman masquerading with the black eye 
is Ned Carson. Perhaps you might have 
heard of us ; most people have." 

" Your fame has travelled," the little man 
said, imperturbably. His eyes had narrowed 
down now to long slits that seemed to emit 
flashes as if flint and steel were struck to- 
gether. "And now, perhaps, it would be 
just as well if I let you know who I happen 
to be. But perhaps you are not curious ? " 

" It was always a weakness of mine," Long 
Jim said. 

" It shall be gratified. My name, sirs, is 
Patrick Walsh. It is just possible that you 
have heard of me ! " 

Long Jim displayed the balance of a 
set of teeth in a snarling grin, like a dog 

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worrying a wasp ; the other two turned away 
as if the affair was nothing of theirs. It was 
plain that the three ruffians were taken aback 
by this unexpected announcement. It was 
not much on the face of the earth that this 
class of bravo feared, but the name of Patrick 
Walsh was one of them. For here was a 
man who was known right away from the 
Rockies down to the Pacific Slope. Wherever 
men congregated, especially men of the law- 
less type, there the name of Patrick Walsh 
was whispered in accents of admiration. 
There were countless stories told about him 
of his courage and fearlessness, of his utter 
indifference to death. Never once had any- 
body got the best of him, never once had he 
hesitated when he wanted to mark a point or 
avenge an insult. With it all, it was decidedly 
in Walsh's favour that his record was clean. 
If he won, as frequently he did, large sums 
at the gambling-table, his methods had never 
been questioned. That he had questioned the 
methods of others more than one so-called 
sportsman had found to his cost. Indeed, a 
book might have been written about Patrick 
Walsh, telling of his exploits and perform- 
ances. There was not a man in that part of 
the country who did not remember the fate 
of Jake Mortson. 

He had been the terror of a whole handful 
of States — a man hated, and loathed, and 
feared — who had wound up his career with a 
crime beyond all words. And yet no hand 
had been stretched out for him. By sheer 
force of terrorism he would compel honest 
men to sit and drink with him, until the 
word went out from Patrick Walsh that the 
wolf must die. Walsh sent this message in a 
courteous letter, and for six months Colorado 
watched the duel with breathless interest. 
It watched Monson grow from the magnifi- 
cent semblance of exuberant humanity to a 
trembling, broken wretch whose nerves were 
worn to fiddle-strings. And all this time 
Monson never saw the man who was upon 
his track. He lost an eye, an ear, the fingers 
of his right hand, whilst his antagonist 
remained absolutely invisible. And then, 
finally, after a heavy drinking bout up there 
amongst the hills, Monson turned his revolver 
upon himself and put a bullet through his 
own heart. 

This, then, was the man that Long Jim 
and his companions had to contend with. 
He sat there quiet and almost listless, with 
his hands in his pockets. Nobody knew 
better than himself how tight a place he was 
in. These were no cowards that he had to 
oppose him, but reckless, desperate men, 

Original from 



R 9 

ready for anything. Still they hesitated If 
they had turned their revolvers upon him 
simultaneously there would have been an end 
of Patrick Walsh, but tin: first man that pro- 
duced a weapon was as good as dead, so 
that neither of them cared to make the first 
advance, They drew a little on one side and 
sat down to eat their breakfast. What was 
going to happen Walsh had already guessed. 
These ruffians would wait till he and Nell 
Maeey had entered the long, wooded passes 
leading to Dolvertown, and there the trouble 
would begin in earnest There was no doubt 
why Long Jim and the rest were here. They 
had followed Mrs. Macey for the diamonds 
They would have owned it freely enough had 
they been asked, for they were three to one, and 
the Nemesis of the law in those parts was no 
more than a mockery and a shadow 

Nell looked at her companion with tears 
in her eyes. She had expected something 
more formidable than this, It seemed 
almost impossible that the little man with 
the white face and sensitive mouth should 
be the famous Patrick Walsh, 
but in some strange way she 
pinned her faith to him. She 
felt perfectly certain that 
despite the danger he would 
pull her through. 

"HI do my best," Walsh 
said, curtly. 

u Oh, I am sure you w;ll/' 
Nell replied. " But how do 
you know what I was think- 
ing about ? " 

"It wants no great fore- 
sight," Walsh murmured. 
11 You are wondering how 
I am going to save your 
treasures and my own life at 
the same time. But I shall 
do it. Now, can you trust 
me— I mean, can you trust 
me implicitly ?* 

44 I am certain of it," Nell 
said, impulsively. 

** Very well, then. Tn that 
case I want you to do exactly 
as you are told, Now, you 
know* what those carrion are 
here for ; you know why they 
followed you. Despite their 
assumed indifference they are 
watching us as a cat watches 
a mouse. 1 want you to 
hand me those diamonds 
over openly and without any 
attempt at disguise I will 

VoL xxxv,— 13 

see that you are not robbed. And then 
I want you to go right home again and tell 
your husband all that his happened," 

" But," Nell protested, " it does not 
seem ■" 

Walsh turned his face in her direction. 
The features had grown hard and firm and 
merciless ; the eyes were long slits of flame. 

" You've got to do what I tell you," Walsh 
said. a Didn't I give you my word, and did 
any man ever know me to break it? Now- 
hand those stones over. Give them to me 
so that there can be no mistake about those 
fellows seeing what you are doing. If this 
adventure comes off all right I will laugh 
those three ruffians off the Continent of 
x^merica. Now, come," 

In a dazed kind of w T ay Nell handed over 
the jewels, Walsh took them out of their 
little envelope and examined each carefully 
between his finger and thumb. From under 
his brows he could see how anxiously the 
three men on the ridge were regarding him* 
Then he turned over on his side as if to 




light his pipe, but in reality he was doing 
something with the stones. Nell could hear 
a clicking kind of sound and the rustling of 
paper, but she did not venture to move 
because Walsh, curtly enough, bade her to sit 
exactly as she was and take no notice of 
what he was doing. At the end of a minute 
or two she heard a chuckle by her side, and 
when Walsh sat up again there was a grim 
smile of amusement on his thin lips. 

" Now we are ready for the play to begin/' 
he said. "And don't you be afraid. But, 
then, you are not that sort of woman. Go 
straight back home and tell your husband 
exactly what has happened. Tell him that if 
I am alive in a week's time he shall hear 
from me, and if I am dead he shall hear 
from me, too. No, you need not thank me. 
This is just one of the moments in one's life 
that is worth living. I wouldn't have missed 
a chance like this for ten thousand dollars." 

There was nothing for it but for Nell to 
obey. She was ashamed of herself in a way, 
and yet, at the same time, she was carried 
away by the amazing force of this man's will. 
He rose to his feet. He offered Nell his 
arm with a gesture of almost exaggerated 
courtesy ; he stalked gravely by the three 
men sitting there ; he walked up the slope to 
the top of the bluffs whence they could see 
the long, sinuous road winding away towards 
One Tree Gulch, like a white parting in a 
head of black hair. And here Walsh held 
out a hand to his companion. He took 
Nell's fingers and held them to his lips. He 
swept off his big-brimmed soft hat, as one of 
the cavaliers in the old days might have done. 

"There's your way," he said. "Now take 
it without hesitation. I will stay here till you 
are out of sight Those three gentlemen 
down below can see me, and so long as 
I am in sight they will make no effort to 
follow. If I had a horse I should feel equal 
to the lot of them, but, then, on the other 
hand, .the adventure would lose its piquancy. 
And now, good- bye." 

For a long time Walsh stood there like a 
graven statue against the blue sky. Nell 
turned and waved her hand to him as she 
disappeared presently amongst the waving 
pines. Then Walsh strolled back to the 
camp coolly and casually, past the huts and 
the stores, and so away down the pass which 
led dizzily to Dolvertown. He had no 
friends there to help him ; he was a stranger 
in those parts. Probably if he had mentioned 
his name people might have refused to 
believe him. His thin lips were pressed 
tightly together, his eyes flickered in a smile 

Digitized by v_*DGgie 

of slow amusement. No sooner had he 
turned the corner than he sprang nimbly 
to the summit of a rock whence he could 
command a view of the camp. The smile 
widened when be saw that- Long Jim and his 
companions had already vanished. He stood 
there listening for the sound of a broken twig 
or the dull thud of a footstep. He took his 
soft hat from his head and held it above the 
bushes. There was the quick snap of a re- 
volver shot and the sombrero fell at his feet 
Walsh laughed softly. The game had begun 
in earnest now. He was ready and eager for 
the fray. There was nothing to be greatly 
alarmed at as yet. He knew those ruffians 
were afraid of him ; he knew perfectly well 
that they would hesitate a long time before 
they came to close quarters. Of their inten- 
tions he had no manner of doubt. Those 
men meant to rob him and they meant to 
murder him, too. 

So the game went on mile after mile, till 
the centre of the big belt of pines was 
reached. The bluff rose sharply here. Beyond 
it was a ragged slope of undergrowth with 
a stream of water hurrying along to its foot 
Here Walsh halted. He knew that the men 
were on three sides of him now ; he could 
hear their footsteps rustling in the dead leaves. 
And he was taking no risks. He knew the 
class of men he had to deal with. He knew* 
that he was fighting with antagonists whose 
knowledge of woodcraft was almost equal to 
his own, Then just for a moment he 
exposed himself — only for an instant, but it 
was sufficient to draw the fire of revolvers 
from three directions. Then Walsh threw 
up his hands, and from his lips came that 
horrible bubbling scream which tells elo- 
quently enough of a man who has been shot 
in some vital part. He lay prone on his 
face, his left arm outstretched, his right 
doubled up under him. There was a small 
ragged hole over his left breast from which 
the blood appeared to be oozing. He lay 
there so stark and stiff and horrible that the 
three men creeping over the dead leaves from 
different directions whistled and called simul- 
taneously that the trouble was over, and that 
there was an end of Patrick Walsh, save for 
his glorious and romantic memory. For 
those three men were deadly shots. They 
wanted no flattery so far as their revolver 
practice was concerned. 

Ixmg Jim grinned as he rose to his feet, 
the others sniggered. For, apparently, Walsh 
had come to the end of his tether ; apparently 
he had allowed himself to be driven into a 
corner whence therjj fix-f^n no escape. He 





could not have doubled on his tracks, and 
no man really in his senses would have dared 
the leap over the edge of the bluff into those 
swirling waters below. 

'* Right through the heart," Long Jim said, 
hoarsely. ** Jehoshaphat, ain't he bleeding! 
Now, then, hoys ,J 

They came brutally, callously forward. 
Then, as if by magic, the prostrate figure 
moved an inch, and three revolver shots rang 
out in lightning succession. Long Jim stag- 
gered back with a bullet in his shoulder, 
screaming and blaspheming with pain ; his 
two companions went foaming and writhing 

Digitized by Google 

and holding a pair of trembling hands io the 
fleshy part of their thighs. It had all taken 
place in the twinkling of an eye, and before 
the three ruffians rould recover themselves 
sufficiently to realize what had happened 
Walsh was rolling swiftly over and over 
towards the edge of the bluff. With a yell 
of defiance and an outbreak of derisive 
laughter, he bent himself backwards like a 
bow and flashed headlong into the yellow 
stream which lay thirty feet below. 

He came up presently, gasping and panting 
and chilled to the very marrow by the icy 
coldness p^the water" but his heart was light, 




and his lips were parted in a smile as he bent 
down and sped through the undergrowth 
with his white face turned in the direction of 

"That was a close call," he muttered. "I 
don't know when I have enjoyed anything so 
much. And unless you are greatly mistaken 
in your calculations, Pat Walsh, the next 
trick is going to be yours." 

It was getting dusk a week later when 
Walsh put in an appearance at Tom Macey's 
hut. His welcome was all that he could 
wish; in fact, Tom Macey, in his clumsy way, 
professed to be half jealous of the way in 
which Nell received her visitor. 

"Oh, we're all right," he said. "And the 
kid is much better. I dare say we shall be 
able to manage till the end of the summer 
now. Seems ungrateful, don't it, to worry 
about those diamonds, and the kid's all right 
again ? Guess you had to give them up." 

Walsh smiled dryly. 

" Well, not quite in the way you think," he 
said. " I expected to worry through that 
little trouble, and I did. But I had to take 
no risks. I wasn't going to go under with 
those stones in my possession, so I hit upon 
a little scheme of my own, which I will ex- 
plain to you presently. You will laugh when 
you hear it, and you will be all the more 
amused because the laugh will be on your 
side. And if you want to see your stones 
again you will have to come with me this 
evening. Slip a brace of revolvers in your 
pocket. There is no great danger, Mrs. 
Macey. Tom will be home by midnight, and 
when he comes back you will be able to sit 
up and talk it over, and decide what you are 
going to do with your money. I can't tell 
you any more at present. I don't want to 
spoil the joke." 

There were a couple of horses outside, and 
in silence the two men rode together up the 
rocky mountain passes, till they came at 
length to a little camp under the pines below 
the snow-line. It was a fresh camp, but 
already it boasted its saloon, where a score 
or more of men sat gambling and drinking. 
Beyond the thick haze of acrid tobacco- 
smoke Long Jim and his companions sat 
over a game of mont£. They appeared to 
be none the better for their adventure. Their 
faces were pallid and lank under their mask 
of dirt. Long Jim's shoulder appeared to 
have been strapped up with some rude 
attempt at bindaging; the other two sat on 
a chair with a leg resting on another one. 
The forbidding assemblage looked up as 

Patrick Walsh entered. He had a revolver 
in his hand. The big, square frame of Turn 
Macey loomed behind him, his finger crooked 
on the trigger of another weapon. 

" Now don't any of you move," Walsh 
commanded, crisply. " My business is with 
those three skunks in the corner yonder. 
Hands up, there ! Now, Mr. Long Jim, get 
a move on you. Ah, that's better. Now 
let's see you smile." 

An ominous growl went up from the 
motley assembly. The hand of more than 
one man strayed to his hip-pocket, but some- 
how they hesitated as their glances fell upon 
that white, still face of the man in the 

"I have warned you," he rasped out. 
" Perhaps you don't know me. My name is 
Patrick Walsh." 

" By Heaven, it is, too ! " a voice growled 
behind the tobacco-smoke. "Boys, this is 
no affair of ours." 

The effect of the words was electrical. A 
dead, respectful silence fell upon the gamblers 
as Long Jim and his companions moved 
forward with their hands above their heads. 
They dragged themselves miserably into the 
outer air, no man following, for Walsh had 
been emphatic on that point, and he was, 
above all things, a man of his word. He 
stood there looking grimly on while Macey 
bound the prisoners together with raw hides, 
and presently they were fastened to the 
saddles of the two adventurers, and so the 
melancholy procession moved slowly down 
the mountain side. There was no word said, 
no sound but the regular tread of hoofs until 
the party arrived at length at something 
superior in the way of a ranch in one of the 
valleys lying there below One Tree Gulch. 
An alert man in spectacles came out and 
bade them welcome. He seemed to be 
expecting Walsh, for he bade the whole party 
to come inside. Here, laid out on the table, 
were surgical instruments, sharp - looking 
knives, and other terrors to the uninitiated. 

"Friends of mine," Walsh said, curtly. 
" I am very anxious about their welfare. You 
see, they all met with a bit of an accident a 
few days ago. The estimable Long Jim has 
got a bullet in his shoulder, and Mr. Ned 
Carson and Dick Blake are suffering from 
the same inconvenience in the thick part of 
the thigh. It is a pity you haven't got any- 
thing in the way of an anaesthetic, but, Lord, 
what's a few moments' pain to brave chaps 
like these ? " 

"What's the pastime?" Long Jim asked, 





By way of reply he was jerked 
moniously on his back and speedily stripped 
to the skin. He howled and writhed there 
irnpotently whilst the man in the spectacles 
probed scientifically in the wound* A 
moment later at the end of a pair of forceps 
he held up a round object triumphantly. 

" Got him/' he explained. " A touch of 
dressing and you It be all right in a week, my 
lad. Now, you others, come along." 

under you would have lost them, and so I 
extracted the bullets from three of my 
revolver cartridges and put the diamonds in 
their place. And for the last week or nine 
days these three beauties have been walking 
about with a diamond apiece under their .skin 
and they none the wiser. I told the doctor 
hSre all about it, I tracked those chaps to 
their shanty up in the mountains, and the 
rest you know." 


Three miserable men sat round the fire 
presently whilst Walsh held in his hand the 
three pellets which the doctor had so suc- 
cessfully extracted. He wiped them with a 
piece of lint and handed them over to Macey. 

li There you are," he said, quietly. I( There 
are your diamonds back again. Now, perhaps, 
you see my little scheme. It Tyas impos- 
sible for your wife to get to Dolvertown, and, 
as there were three of those ruffians to one, 
I wasn't going to take any risks, I couldn't 
hide the stones because if I had gone 


A stream of oaths broke from Long Jims 
lips. His companions to the best of their 
ariistic ability backed him up. Walsh turned 
upon them with a queer, dry smile. 

"That will do," he said " Now you can 
go. And the first man I meet within a 
hundred miles of this place 111 shoot on 
sight. But there's no reason to worry about 
you ; you'll never stay here after this. Even 
the boys would laugh at you. Good night, 
doctor. Now let'js get back and tell the 
story to lyHgwrram 


Can Criminals be Cured by Surgical Operation ? 


TTISNTION has again been 
drawn recently to the ques- 
tion : Can criminals be cured 
by surgical operation ? This 
question has been answered 
long ago by novelists in the 
affirm alive, but it has not, so far, received 
serious attention from sociologists, lieing 
apparently beyond the possibility of realiza- 
tion. Now and then, however, cases have 
been published by brain surgeons in which 
moral defects have been remedied by trepan- 
ation, which removed the source of irrita 
tion from the brain. It, therefore, needs no 
apology for examining 
the possibility of such a 
procedure, which, if suc- 
cess fu I, would rid the 
State of some of its 
undesirable population. 
It would be absurd to 
hope that either surgical 
operation or our pre&en'- 
day method of punish- 
ment will eliminate Clime 
altogtthtr, for there are 
criminals of all sorts. 
It will be well, there- 
fore, to give first of all 
a few particulars of 
the varieties of criminal 

A good in any people 
still hold the notion 
that all persons are 
equally good by nature, 
and might be equally 
good actually had they 
but the will to be so. 
They fail to see that 
men are born with all degrees of moral capa- 
cities and incapacities, and some of them 
wholly lacking in that regard, just as they are 
born with all degrees of intellectual endow- 
ment, and some of them with none whatever, 
A man may be an idiot morally as well as 
intellectually. Let the admirers of the excel- 
lence of the human species reflect why, in all 
ages and all countries, robberies and murder 


Ahhcncc uf ethical instincts; he knew n<> mcrty, The 

furrliciid is very lm* a rn 1 ■Jojviiij*, 

■ From a. lecture oti " The Psychology uf Cntu^ .li ■• I 
CriirnriAKt** delivered by L>r HullanJer Urfuie ihe Eihi>lo^iciil 
Society, Detemlurr 41 h h 1907. 

by Google 

have been committed ; and why neither 
education, legislation, nor religion, the prison, 
hard labour, or the wheel* have yet been able to 
extirpate these crimes* In Queen fclizahetlrs 
time, out of every thousand persons born 
five were actually hanged, as a matter of 
recorded statistics, yet it did not eliminate 
crime. Punishment cannot prevent the ivhh 
to commit a criminal offence, though it may 
prevent in some the actual committal of it. 
With many, it is temptation which excites to 
crime. Supposing we allow it to be educa- 
tion, and not nature, that produces vicious 
tendencies, the difficulty siill remains the same, 
because education never 
would develop either 
good or evil inclinations, 
were not their germs 
previously existent in 
human nature. 

How readily the pas- 
sions can get the con- 
trol of the reason, not 
merely of individuals 
but of whole communi- 
ties, we see whenever 
there are political dis- 
turbances. The follies 
and perverted feelings 
which caused and con- 
trolled the course of 
the French Revolution 
in 1789 were accom- 
panied by a rich crop 
of delusions, and 
afforded a clear picture 
of the exient to which 
the emotions can control 
and pervert the intel- 
lect of man. A wave 
of passion swayed the French populace, domi- 
nated their reason, and converted sane beings 
into merciless furies. 

We have to differentiate three kinds of 
criminals: (i)the typical professional crimi- 
nal, (2) the accidental criminal, and (3) the 
criminal by mental disease. 

What \s a typical criminal ? An habitue 
born in crime, born into crime, and whose 
vocation is crime by a physical and psychical 
proclivity, a man in whom the selfish ten- 
dencies predominate I $ft§f\-\ the moral and 




A cold-htaoclcd mti Merer. He dr i^n-d his 
own gallow*. Tempers] tata* bulging. 

religious sentiments and 

altruistic motives, and whose 
intellectual powers, instead 
of inhibiting such tenden- 
cies, are employed to further 
I hem and to supply means 
for t h ei r grat i fi ca t i on ; more 
over, such men are usually 
not influenced by domestic 
affections, and much too 
insensible to the esteem 
of others to be prevented 
from committing crimes. 
Furthermore, examinations 
and observations made in 
convict prisons have re- 
vealed that born criminals 
are less susceptible to pain 
than the normal man. Not 
only is the physical, but also the moral, 
sensibility deficient in the professional 
criminal, who has been appren- 
ticed to crime from early 
youth, and continues in 
crime year by year. To 
the murdering burglar cal- 
lousness t extreipe callous- 
ness, is a far more necessary 
article of equipment than a 
jemmy or loaded revolver. If 
you an.* going to think how 
unfair it is to the victim to have 
his brains battered out for 
attempting to defend his pro 
perty, you had better renounce 
that line of business. 

The moral insensibility is 
shown by the frequent recom- 
mittals of the habitual criminal 
and the apparent absence of 
all remorse. Only those men and women 
whose active animal propensities are 
governed, as a rule, by sound 
moral sense will, when having 
committed wrong for once, 
feel the torture of conscience 
in Lhe loneliness and darkness 
of the night j and be afflicted 
with those lerrible dreams 
which are alleged to shake 
nightly the guilty soul. The 
habitual criminal may perhaps 
feel and dread the material 
consequences of crime, but 
his conscience is not strong 
enough to torture him for his 
guilt. According to the evi- A tymcal ukgla* 

dence of night - Watchers of Notice width of head and low position 

For such a snnll head goori* practical 

intdk'Ll, I ml in itu- ^-rwi.<; <jf hi> 
1 inline L> ; the tower region \A 
frontal bbc well tlei'i-Loucdt ^hurting 
quick perception* Tlit n^id i* rela- 
lively low, however, talking llmst 
purls, which taive to do with ibe higher 
mural and religion* *entiincmv 

as a rural cottager, the 
simple peasant, or the most 
innocent in the quiet homes 
of social men* Re|teiitimce 
is rare. The criminals who 
tin sincerely rqvni are those 
who have been drawn into 
crime through imprudence, 
an unfortunate fit of pas- 
sion, poverty and m>ic 
need, or from other very 
pressing external circum- 

This view of man's de- 
pravity may naturally dis- 
please those persons who 
dream only of the dignity 
of the human species. 
But observe closely the 
usurer, the libertine, the villain, and you wit] 
see that each of them is happy only in pro- 
portion as his desires get 
satisfied, anil some may with 
glee and vanity recount to you 
their deeds, without forgetting 
the most insignificant details 
and the particular mode they 
adopted in committing them. 
Calculate how many of them 
have been recommitted, and 
you will be easily convinced 
how few have repented of their 

As regards the anatomical 
marks of the typical criminal, 
we may say at once that there 
is no "bump 1 ' fur thieving or 
murder, hut there is a general 
conformation of the head 
which characterizes the born 
criminal The Continental school of criminal 
anthropologists have found that his skull is 
widest from ear to ear, />., is 
largest in its bi temporal dia- 
meter, and is compressed front 
to back, i.e.) short in its frontal 
and posterior segments. In 
normal persons the forehead 
is almost as high as the crown 
of the head, but in typical 
criminals the forehead is fre- 
quently so low that there is a 
difference of two inches between 
the two, Bcnedikt calls this 
Al parietal steepness." Kurlher, 
the skull is hollowed out deeply 
in the temporal fossa*, making 
the ears sit low, very much 

of ears, which nialces, iliv Jit;i<J appear 

prisoners, he sleep* as soundly high, wh«™in r^iiiy Uhd«^ r jgf^^f|^fi level of the eyes, 

™junuij high, wh« 

by Google 




CKANitt-CKlffcUKAl, TUttKifCAPHY. 

Di igrnininrilic rcprtsen union of thr cunvttlu lions of ihc bwMn 

brain and ihcir relatiun to the vlculL Disease or injury uf the 

temporal convolutions (shunted around ihe ear) ni^y lead lo criminal 


As the skull p so the brain. The brain of 
typical criminals has been found greatly deve- 
loped in the temporal lobes, making it wide 
from side to side, and frequently deficient 
anteriorly (frontal lobes) 
and posteriorly (occipital 
lobes). Moreover, the 
convolutions of the brain 
are arrested in develop- 
ment (particularly in the 
superior parietal area), 
and there is a preponder- 
ance of fissures in con- 

Anatomically and 
psychologically, t h e re- 
fore, the born criminal 
presents the appearance 
of arrested development, 
and resembles in many 
respects the lower 
animals. It must not be 
assumed, however, that t 
because these character- 
istic brain types are pre- 
sent in criminal natures, 
a being so constituted 
must necessarily commit 
crime. The question 
here is only as to praits- 
pGsitim t just as we say 

that people with a narrow chest have a 
predisposition to tuberculosis, or children 
of insane [>arents have a predisposition 
to insanity, It must always depend on 
opportunity! social factors, and on a 
number of other conditions, as to whether 
a nature predisposed to crime will actu- 
ally become a criminal, and the clearer 
we are as regards the psychological and 
anatomical marks by which the disposi- 
tion may stand revealed, the more surely 
shall we prevent crime by education and 
due vigilance. 

The second class — the accidental 
criminal — is frequently the result of cir- 
cumstances in which he has been brought 
up, and the result of inefficient education 
and defective character. It is he who 
may be reformed by the prison chaplain 
or moralist, and may be deterred from 
crime by the prospect of long and severe 
imprisonment. Economic and social 
causes largely account for the production 
of this class of criminals. The rush of 
life, the competitive system, exciting plea- 
sure, morbid literature, the wealth of the 
wealthy* the poverty "of the poor, the 
frightful overeruwding of the masses, the 
continuous labour of married women, working 
right up to the day of their delivery, and 
working again within a week after their con- 
finement — all these things help to call into 


Notice thr harmony nf t:unf^nn:Liin]i nf >liull ;nul hi;iin. the -Jiajx of l ht one ttiowing ih'j 

shnp* of ihe diner. The X ^hc»w^ .n hi^ figure, divide* the fronts! luhe (ihe^rua of 

b%jjitellcaual ^mcuoa*) from the temporal. Jo^U he a f c £J$f l * lc aH " n *l propensities^ 

(b%jjitelLcauat fuuelioiv-) 



life not only a race of beings who have 
neither moral nor physical strength, but also 
a large number of individuals who are Subject 
to strange whims, delusions, and uncontroll- 
able impulses. 

Mr. Thomas Holmes, the secretary of the 
Howard Association, has hud, as former 
police-court missionary, unique opportunities 
of knowing and studying the criminal classes, 
and this is what he says: " Many years ago 
I began work in the fixed belief that all 
crime proceeded from wickedness or drink. 
I have had to learn differently. Old cherished 
opinions have had Lo go. This is the great 
lesson of my experience— that a great deal 
of crime does not proceed 
from wickedness, from a 
desire to be criminal, or 
from an excessive use of 
alcohol, but very often 
proceeds from causes 
over which the so-called 
criminal has no control, 
and against which he often 
struggles in vain." 

Men have always re- 
garded violent affections 
and passions as extenuat- 
ing motives when their 
impetuosity, excluding 
premeditation and some- 
times even consciousness, 
has led on to criminal 
action. But it often hap- 
pens that, although the 
storm is raging in the 
mind, external circum- 
stances may retard the 
outburst, when the mind 
and body may be more 
strongly agitated than if 
it were allowed to take 
its free course. An atrocious resolve adopted 
during such state should be regarded, under 
many eircum.siance.s, Jh the consequence of 
impaired health and perverted judgment. 
And indeed, if it be suicide, we condone 
the offence as committed *' during temporary 
insanity," but if it be murder the man is 

As regards the third class, the criminal by 
mental disease, a very common cause is 
epilepsy. Those suffering from that terrible 
affliction are particularly liable to criminal 
action. Persons suffering from it should not 
be held accountable for their actions ; or a 
diminished responsibility, at least, should be 
admitted. All is well if the epileptic have 
genuine convulsions, which any layman can 

THf)MA« CHATTFRTOV (l75?-I770), PflET* 

Sriutltlve, «moiional nature. ^ ^hovn by the large 

development of the posterior pari of iht bfad N and 

the while bruin being too lari;<r lo li-e l<c|)t under 

control ; hence the: earty ending liy suicide 

Vol- ji**v.— 1^. 

recognise. Sometimes, however, there are no 
convulsions, but the lit is replaced by a 
paroxysm of mania, in which the epileptic 
may perform actions as automatically as his 
convulsive movements are performed at other 
times. In other words, the nerve-storm may 
discharge itself in a physical manner or by 
psychical action alone, or sometimes in both 
ways, one following close upon the other. In 
many there is a dreamy state, as, for example, 
in the case described by the superintendent 
of Broadmoor, of the mother who, while 
cutting bread for her family, having her baby 
in her arms, became momentarily unconscious. 
On return to consciousness she proceeded in 
an automatic way to use 
the knife, not upon the 
loaf, but upon the child, 
whose arm she ampu- 

Every nerve -specialist 
could quote from his per- 
sonal experience cases 
of epileptics with most 
dangerous impulses, who 
require personal attend- 
ants to watch over them 
and restrain them, if 
necessary. Thus the 
writer knows of one 
gentleman who dare not 
go out alone into the 
streets, as he jumps at 
people's throats and 
attempts to strangle them, 
though he expresses his 
a po logy i m m ed i at el y a ft er- 
wards* But what about 
those who cannot afford 
the luxury of personal 
attendants ? Their his- 
tory shows a constant 
oscillation bet wren workhouse, jail, and 
short periods of liberty. Neither the epileptic 
nor the children of epileptics, though they 
may be clever as well as criminal, are normal 
beings. To judge them by the ordinary 
standard is absurd ; to punish them as 
ordinary criminals is monstrously cruel. 

As regards that form of mania which leads 
men to the constant repetition of one kind of 
offence, it is frequently the result of what is 
called by medical psychologists "obsession/* 
An idea forces itself upon the mind at in- 
tervals against one's will, probably from irri- 
tation of certain nerve centres, The idea 
may be so innocent as not to attract any 
notice, as, for instance, when a particular 
word or QftfcfitraljfiaMtiliy recurs to opes mind, 




or it may be so extreme as to he criminal. 
The criiiu\ too, may be trivial but often 
repeated, and may confine itself to the theft 
of certain articles only, as, for instance, in 
the o*se of a man who was recently convicted 
for the thirtieth time, I think, for stealing 
ladders only. He never took anything else. 
In another case the theft 
was confined to false teeth, 
in another to boots, Mr. 
Holmes, who pleaded with 
these criminals, confirms our 
theory that an uncontroll- 
able impulse comes upon 
them, which they cannot 
resist, and though aware of 
the consequences they yield 
to these impulses with a 
feeling of gratification and 
joy. After the act they may 
be affected with the deepest 
remorse and fortified with 
i he best resolutions, and for 
a time they will behave in 
a most exemplary manner, 
until they relapse again. 

There are other mental 
diseases which are accompanied by criminal 
tendencies, Altogether statistics show mania 
to be a great cause of crime. One in every one 
hundred and twenty-six prisoners is certified 
insane, and twelve and a half per cent are 
shown to come of insane or epileptic parents. 

We have still to consider 
weak-mindedness as a cause of r 
crime. Its prevalence can be 
judged by actual figures, Thus, 
in Manchester Hoard schools, 
of forty thousand children, five 
hundred have been found feeble- 
minded and require spec ill in- 
struction ; and when we reflect 
that they remain under super- 
vision only till the age of sixteen 
we cannot wonder that many 
of th 'm, though they have no 
crinrml impulses, may yet take 
to crime, not hiving sufficient 
mental power to earn their liveli- 
hood in an honest manner. The 
reports of the Commissioners 
oF Prisons also bear out our 
statement that a deplorable 
number of criminals are intellectually 
imbecile or weak minde 1. Of course, there 
are criminals with great intellectual powers, 
but these are the clever rogues, who know 
how to escape the law; in prison are only 
the failures, 


Forehead tlefet:uve t rest of head inonri il ; 

hence intellect doc* not control animal 



Showing a fine intell ct in 'the 
■HCFiice of crim«. Notice the 
depth of the, giving nv>re 
area to the temporal ]cihe n which 
bulges grcsitly above find behind 
the cm. 

by Google 

What is not receiving suffi ient recognition 
is that there may be moral weak mini ltd ness, 
as well as weak minded nt-ss that affects the 
intellect. l,et me quote a typical case -that 
of a boy , an only son of a weak and 
indulgent mother who lavishly supplied hi in 
with money and gratified every passion and 
caprice of lus. Opposition 
or resistance roused him to 
fury, but when unmoved by 
passion he had a perfectly 
sound judgment and was 
competent to manage his 
own affairs. Eventually 
this precocious boy threw a 
woman into a well, which 
deed drew the attention of 
the legal authorities to his 
mental state, and he was 
con lined in an asylum,, Here 
was a total absence of any 
mental, />., intellectual, dis- 
order, as opposed to moral 
disorder, and this is a type 
which is now admitted by 
all competent observers. 
Here we must mention also 
the typical regicides — that is, those fanatics 
who, without belonging to any sect or con- 
spiracy, have assassinated or tried to assassi- 
nate a monarch or one of the great men of 
the day. They are persons of ill balanced or 
degenerate brain, who become overexcited 
on matters of politics or religion, 
intelligent for the most part, 
but of weak will and moibid 
instability, who lead the most 
aimless and unsettled existence 
till the day when their tempera- 
ment makes them espouse with 
ardour the political or religious 
quarrel that the occasion hap- 
[jens to bring into notice. Then 
their imagination becomes over- 
heated and they end by trans- 
forming party quest ions into 
truly frenzied ideas. The 
crime of the regicide is not 
a sudden or blind but a pre- 
meditated act. He takes pride 
in his supposed mission and 
carries it out in a theatrical 
Lastly, there arc those cases of crime 
which can be traced to an injury of the brain. 
Thus a most interesting caste of kleptomania 
caused by injury to the head is that recorded 
by Professor Lonibroso. The man in question 
fell, when p, boy, eight years of age, from a 
Original from 





Th* jmirderer of ihe Km pre-" of 

height on to a stove, and injured his left 
temple. He lost his left eye through the 
accident, and the temple bulged ever after- 
wards. H^ grew up a rich citizen and 
was renowned for his sordid 
avarice, When si xt y ■ foil r yea r s 
old he was accused of theft, 
He had kept a set of burglary 
instruments, by means of 
which he robbed not only 
his own servants, whom he 
frequently changed, but the 
guests whom he invited to 
his house and entertained 
there. It was found that the 
injury to his head when a 
youth had caused changes 
in the brain, which produced 
these morbid inclinations. 
But suppose a similar acci- 
dent had happened to a pour 
man, would a similar plea of 
irresponsibility be accepted in 
his ease? It is not only 
injury of a severe character 
that may produce mental derangement, but 
injuries apparently very trivial may produce 
minute internal haemorrhage destructive to 
the brain - substance There are several 
cases on record in which a 
box on* the ear has pro- 
duced such damage inter- 
nally that violent mania 
followed ; and it is easy to 
see^ if we admit the local i 
zation of particular mental 
powers, that, for instance, 
a slight blow on the temple, 
even though it leave no 
external mark, may cause 
uncontrollable acquisitive- 
ness and lead to thieving. 

Enough evidence has 
been quoted to show* that 
crime calls for intelligent 
and scientific treatment, 
which lies with the future 
learning of the medical 
profession. It is to the 
physician that the public 
will look for the differential 
diagnosis between the curable and incurable 
criminal, and it is he who will be largely 
instrumental in the treatment of mora] disease. 

The surgeon's knife has frequently changed 
a lunatic to a sane person* ; there is no reason 

* For rtrificatiofT <ike and on account of English medical 
etiquette* Or. Hollander has quoted only cases, njt bis o»n t 
which are fully described in his work on "The Mental Function* 
of the Brain. '— This J£umm. 

Digitized by Gooolc 


Notice defective region. 

why it should not change the criminal insane 
to a moral person. 

take the following case of a woman, thirty- 
one years of age, who had been sent to an 
asylum for imbecility with 
uncontrollable impulses, 
manifesting themselves by 
acts of violence inflicted on 
persons about her, In her 
personal antecedents the only 
thing noted was a fall, which 
occurred at the age of six, 
having left a scar with a de- 
pression in the bone on the 
left side of the cranium. 
This young girl, who before 
her accident had had the 
same nature as any other 
child of the same age, be- 
came from that time on queer, 
insubordinate, and irritable. 
She could not be kept in 
any school, and passed her 
time in idleness and in 
quarrelling with her mother 
and neighbours. In the asylum she was the 
terror of her companions. An epileptiform 
crisis led the physician to diagnose epilepsy, 
caused in all probability by the accident that 
h ad OCC u rred t we n t y - fi ve 
years before. In view of 
these circumstances it was 
decided to treat her surgi- 
cally. Her skull was 
trephined, and the portion 
of bone pressing on the 
brain removed. Recovery 
from the operation was 
rapid, A month after the 
trephining a marked change 
was noticed in her actions, 
bearing, and conduct. 
Modesty and deference 
gradually took the place 
of the cynical nature that 
had characterized her de- 
portment before. There 
were no more acts of 
violence and no more 
coarse remarks. Her in- 
solent behaviour and dis- 
graceful language of former times were suc- 
ceeded by true emotions of thankfulness for 
the care she had received. She was anxious 
to work, and showed a willingness that made 
a marked contrast with her former disincli- 
nation. Her conduct improved point by 
point ; gradually she was allowed out on leave, 
and after a year she was finally released? 
Original from 




v The following is a case of epilepsy with 
homicidal tendency which was cured by 
surgical operation. 

C. E., aged thirty-seven, was struck on the 
head when thirteen years old by a small 
wagon-wheel ; he had epilepsy when twenty 
years old and married at twenty-two years of 
age. In a fit of frenzy he one day killed his 
two-year old child by catching hold of its feet 
and beating its brains out. He was admitted 
to the asylum, where he continued violent 
and homicidal. He was trephined, and a 
piece of bone removed at the junction of the 
temporal and parietal sutures. The con- 
vulsive fits became gradually farther apart, 
and finally ceased altogether. He reported 
himself perfectly well six months after his 

Compare the following three medico-legal 
cases with their different results. 

i. J. L., healthy up to his twenty-first year, 
a quiet, peaceful man ; family history good ; 
was attacked one day and struck on the left 
side of the head above the ear, causing 
haemorrhage from the ear. He was uncon- 
scious for nine days, and subsequently deaf 
in the left ear. Since that time he became 
avaricious, greedy for money, irascible to an 
ever-increasing degree, so that he could bear 
no contradiction, and at once took to personal 
violence. Four years after the accident he 
married, but he only ill- treated his wife and 
children for no cause, or very trifling, and beat 
them until they bled and were half dead. 
Punishment had no effect on him. One day 
a neighbour teased him and challenged him 

to shoot if he dared. L did so and 

killed him. He immediately gave himself 
up, with the pistol still in. his hand. His 
state of mind was then inquired into, 
with the result that he was sent to an 

2. A miner, when thirty-one years of age, 
sustained a fracture of the base of the cranium, 
was eight days unconscious, and ill for three 
months. He became somewhat deaf and 
there continued a buzzing in the right ear. 
Ten years after the accident he became 
mentally changed. He suffered from delu- 
sions of persecution, believed people robbed 
him of everything, that they intended to 
poison him, that they spoke badly of him, 
and he threatened to kill his wife and children 
and to commit suicide afterwards. The dis- 
charge from the ear got worse, and with it the 

delusions. When the ear disease was treated 
and got well his mental derangement dis- 
appeared completely. 

How very different the ending of the next 
case, though the same cause was at work and 
there was the same intention. 

3. On the 26th of February, 1904, an 
inquest took place on the body of Mr. C. T., 
a well-educated and highly respected citizen, 
who had committed suicide, and upon the 
bodies of his wife and two daughters, aged 
ten and thirteen, whom he had murdered 
previously by cutting their throats. There 
was evidence of a severe struggle. The 
inquest revealed that the deceased was per- 
fectly rational on the day before the tragedy, 
that he was most devoted to his family, and 
had no trouble whatever; but he had suffered 
from ear disease, and had had an abscess 
under the bone, for which he was in the 
hands of the doctors. 

To sum up, it has been shown that 
criminal tendencies depend on heredity and 
social and physiological circumstances. The 
most important of these is heredity. Just as 
no amount of ambition will enable a man to 
write a Shakespearean drama if he have not 
the talent, so it is preposterous to expect in a 
child of vicious parents, brought up amongst 
vicious surroundings, that moral tone which 
would characterize the finest type of human 
kind. The facts, of course, point to pre- 
disposition only ; the actual nature will 
depend on education, experience, surround- 
ings, and a variety of other factors. 

Moreover, we have seen that physiological 
circumstances may totally change the cha- 
racter, as, for instance, mental disease, and 
even a slight injury to the brain. It is this 
latter class of criminals— vicious by accident 
— that has so far come under surgical treat- 
ment ; but we can predict with considerable 
confidence that as our knowledge of the 
localization of mental disease increases, 
so more and more persons with criminal 
tendencies will be treated by surgical opera- 
tion. And if we are able to remove the 
diseased spot or source of irritation from a 
particular part of the brain in this class of 
criminals, there is no reason why we should 
not attempt the same operation on those 
congenitally deformed — that is, on the typical 
professional criminal, whom so far all methods 
of reform and all varieties and measures of 
punishment have failed to cure. 

by Google 

Original from 

From Other Mag amines. 


THE accompanying photograph was taken at 
Poona, India, on the last day of the * fc Mohar- 
ram/' a Mohammedan feast held in memory of the 
sons of the Prophet. These martyrs are Held in great 
veneration, and their anniversary festival is kept as 

a period of mourning Huge represents lions of their 
tombs, often thirty feel high and very elaborate in 
design, arc liorne through I he streets, ihe crowd 
1 mating drums and chanting the saints 1 names mean- 
while. On the ninth day they are carried with much 
ceremony to the nearest river and there thrown in, 
The one in our photograph was hurled from the 
Sungum Hridge at Poona, and upwards of forty 
others were destroyed on the same day. — '*THK wide 



AN old vicar had a groom who had been detected 
stealing his master's oats. The vicar had noi 
decided what course lo lakeland meantime the groom 
had gone to the curate to ask him to plead for him, 
and the sympathetic young fellow hastened to the 
rectory to appeal to the vicar. The i*\<\ vicar heard 
his curate out, but looked obdurate, so r as a last 
resource, the curate quoted Scripture as a plea for 
leniency, and said we were taught, when a man look 
our coal, to let him take the cloak as well. " That's 
true," said the vicar, dryly; M and as the fellow has 
taken my oats I am going to give him the sack." — 


A MOST original hohhy is that of the Duke of 
?!aragosa, who may lie seen twice a week 
driving the express train from Madrid lo the French 
frontier, Js'o doubt the directors of the North 
Spanish Railway were somewhat astonished when they 
received his application for a post as driver on their 
line, but when they were persuaded that he was in 
earnest they put htm through the usual examination, 
which he passed with honours. No distinction what- 
ever is made lietwe n him and his comrades, for he 
dresses and lives in exactly the same way as the 
poorest driver on the line,— 4t woman's like. 1 * 


r^OR sheer impudence it would be hard to beat a 
fairly recent attempt to swindle some under- 
writers, A certain person insured a yacht, which we 
will call AihairoiS) for a large sum, and a few months 
later two men, apparently in the last stages of 
exhaustion, were picked up in a haltered rowing- boat 
at the mouth of the Thames. 'I hey told, with much 
detail, the story of the wreck of the Affie/r&ss^ which, 
ilu-y alleged, hud smik Uunn mil:> and r'nin 
which they had escaped with much diffi cully- A claim 
was made for the insurance money, but before it was 
paid investigation proved I hat the A thai row I ad never 
had any existence except on paper, and thai her boat 
was one w r hieh had been hired from a port near the 
mouth of the Thames.— " the (ikand magazine." 


IT is all very well In cultivate learning (which 
is not knowledge, by any means), hut healthy 
bodies ought to be maintained at a health -standard as 
a primary duty, and evening lessons of the preparatory 
kind, bv artificial light too (and in cities, God help 
us !}, wfien the young wood of the young Ik>w ought 
to be relaxed, are all wrong — and utteily wrong* 
believe me- I am not afraid of a race of fouls ; I am 
afraid of a race of rickety human en cy cloraxlietles, 
who are a nuisance to everyone and a health draw- 
back* I have children brought lo me who go to bed 
supersaturated with what are called evening lessons, 
and who chatter in their sleep, and wake from Uid 
scholastic dreams to begin again the weary Sisypluean 
task of Stale education. A nice set of neurotics we 
are breeding and rearing, lo be sure!— u. h. k. dakbs, 

'"TMIE photograph reproduced herewith, which was 
1 sem to "COUNTRY LtFti" by Mr.W. Harris, 
of Tangier, shows a portion of his flock of beautiful 1 
while p. a fowl, w ich, he says, "do exceedingly well, 
and increase and mulliply, in my garden here." This 
group hy no means represents the whole flock — 
all the offspring of a peacock and peahen presented 

by Google 

to him by H.M. the Sultan in T903* The photo- 
graph, which shows so well the full beauty 01 these 
delightful birds, was laken bv Mr, Payne-Thomson, 
of New York, ■ , <■ 

Original from 




ardkn's LOKO. 

T had been a great house once, 
with farms and fields, money 
and jewels —with tenants and 
squires and men - at - arms. 
There had been Ardens in 
Saxon thnes, and there were 
Ardens still— but few and impoverished And 
of the male Ardens there were now two only 
— an old man and a child. 

The old man was Ixird Arden, the head 
of the house, and he lived lonely in a little 
bouse built of the fallen stones that Time 

.«,. Copyright, 1907, by 

Digitized by Lt< 


By E. NESB1T. 

and Cromwell's round-shot had cast from 
the castle walls. The child was Hdred 
Arden, and he lived in a house in a clean, 
wind-swept town on a el iff, 

1 1 was a bright-faced house with bow- 
windows and a green balcony that looked 
out over l he sparkling sea. It was a pretty 
house, and it would have been a pleasant 
house I nil fur one thing [he lodgers. 
For I cannot conceal from you any longer 
that Edred Arden lived with his aunt, and 
that his aunt let lodgings* 

Miss Arden could not help it. It hap- 
pened like tin's, 

I Id red and his sister Elfrida were at 
school, Miss Arden lived near the school, 
so that she could see the children often. She 
was getting her clothes ready for her wedding, 
and the gentleman who was going to marry 
tier was coming home from South America* 
w here he had made a fortune. The children's 
father w T as coming home from South America, 
too> with the fortune that he had made, for he 
and Miss Arderrs sweetheart were partners. 

And then the news came that father and 
Uncle Jim had been captured by brigands, 
and all the money was lost, too, and there 
was nothing left but the house on the cliff. 
So Miss Arden took the children from the 
expensive school hi London, and they all 
went to live in the cliff house, and as there, 





was no money to live on, and no other way 
of making money to live on except letting 
lodgings, Miss Arden let them, like the brave 
lady she was, and did it well. And then 
came the news that father and Uncle Jim 
were dead, and for a time the light of life 
went out in Cliff House. 

This was two years ago ; but the children 
had never got used to the lodgers. They 
hated them. When there were lodgers the 
children and their aunt had to live in the 
very top and the very bottom of the house — 
in the attics and the basement, in fact 

When there were no lodgers they used all 
the rooms in turn, to keep them aired. But 
the children liked the big parlour room best, 
because there all the furniture had belonged 
to deadand-gone Ardens, and all the pictures 
on the walls were of Ardens dead and gone. 

Edred and Elfr'.da went to school every day, 
but the only part of lessons they liked was the 
home-work, when, if Aunt Edith had time to 
help them, geography became like adventures, 
history like story-books, and even arithmetic 
suddenly seemed to mean something. 

The front-door bell was rung by the post- 
man ; he brought three letters. The first 
and second were of no consequence, but the 
third was THE letter, which is really the 
seed, and beginning, and backbone, and 
rhyme, and reason of this story. 

The third letter had a very odd effect on 
Aunt Edith. She read it once, and rubbed 
her hand across her eyes. Then she got up 
and stood under the chandelier, and read it 
again. Then she read it a third time, and 
then she said, " Oh ! " 

" What is it, auntie?" Elfrida asked, 
anxiously; " is it the taxes?" It had l.een 
the taxes once, and Elfrida had never forgotten. 

" No ; it's not the taxes, darling," said 
Aunt Edith ; "on the contrary." 

"Oh, auntie, I am so glad," they both 
said, and said it several times before they 
asked again, " What is it ? " 

" I think — I'm not quite sure — but I think 
it's a ship come home — oh, just a quite tiny 
little bit of a ship — a toy boat — hardly more 
than that. But I must go up to London to- 
morrow the first thing, and see if it really is 
a ship, and, if so, what sort of ship it is. 
Mrs. Blake shall come in, and you'll be good 
as gold, children, won't you ? " 

" Yes — oh, yes," said the two. 

" I must go by the eight-thirty train. 
I wish I could think of some way of — of 
amusing you," she ended, for she was too 
kind to say " of keeping you out of mischief 
for the day," which was what she really 

thought. "I'll bring you something jolly 
for your birthday, Edred. Wouldn't you 
like to spend the day with nice Mrs. 
Hammond ?" 

" Oh, no" said Edred, and added, on the 
inspiration of the moment : " Why mayn't 
we have a picnic— just Elf and me— on the 
downs, to keep my birthday? It doesn't 
matter it being the day before, does it ? " 

" Very well, you shall," said the aunt. 
" Only wear your old clothes, and always keep 
in sight of the road. Yes ; you can have a 
whole holiday. And now to bed." 

Next morning Aunt Edith wv«nt off by the 
eight-thirty train. The children's school 
satchels were filled, not with books, but with 
buns; instead of exercise-books there were 
sandwiches ; and in the place of inky pencil- 
boxes were two magnificent boxes of pepper- 
mint creams which had cost a whole shilling 
each, and had been recklessly bought by 
Aunt Edith in the agitation of the parting 
hour when they saw her off at the station. 

They went slowly up the red-brick-paved 
sidewalk that always looks as though it had 
just been washed, and when they got to the 
top of the hill they stopped and looked at 
each other. 

" It can't be wrong," said Edred. 

"She never told us not to," said Elfrida. 

" I've noticed," said Edred, " that when 
grownup people say ' they'll see about ' any- 
thing you want it never happens." 

" I've noticed that, too," said Elfrida. 
" Auntie always said she'd see about taking 
us there," 

" Yes, she did." 

" We won't be mean and sneaky about it," 
Edred insisted, though no one had suggested 
that he would be mean and sneaky. " We'll 
tell auntie directly she gets back." 

"Of course/' said Elfrida, rather relieved, 
for she had not felt at all sure that Edred 
meant to do this. 

41 After all," said Edred, "it's our castle. 
We ought to go and see the cradle of our 
race. That's what it calls it in * Cliffgate and 
its Env/ons.' I say, let's call it a pilgrimage. 
The satchels will do for packs, and we can 
get halfpenny walking sticks with that penny 
of yours. We can put peas in our shoes, if 
you like," he added, generously. 

But Elfrida refused, and they walked on. 

The town was getting thinner, like the 
tract of stocking that surrounds a hole ; the 
houses were farther apart and had large 
gardens. In one of them a maid was singing 
to herself as she shook out the mats, a thing 
which maids don't do much in towns ;— . 

by L^OOgle 

L| 1 1 Kl I I I -• I 1 1 




ft Good luck !" says I to my sweetheart, 

** For I will km you true ; 
And all the while we've got io par., 
My luck shall gu with you/ 1 
"That's lucky for us," said Elfrida, 

"We're not 
her silly sweet 
heart/* said 

" No ; hut we 
heard her >ing it, 
and he wasn't 

You can't," said Edred ; 
"it's too late, We're miles 
and miles from the stick 

" Very well, I shaVt go 
on," said Elfrida. * l You gut 
out of bed the wrong side 
this morning, I've tried to 
soft-answer you as hard as 
ever I could all the morning, 
and Vm not going to try any 
more, so there." 

"Don't, then/ 7 said Edred, 
bitterly. ss (io along home 
if you like. You're 
only a girl." 

" I'd rather be only 
a girl than what you 
are," said she. 

" And what's that, 
I should like to know," 
Elfnda stopped and 
shut her eyes tight 



here, so he couldn't There's a sign-post, 
I wonder how far we've gone? I'm getting 
awfully tired." 

"You'd better have been pilgrims/' said 
Edred. " Thty never get tired, however 
many peas they have in their shoes," 

" I will now," said Elfrid^. 

Digitized by C-OOglC 

" Don't, don't, don't, don't/' she said. (I l 
won't be cross, I won't be cross, I won't be 
cross. Pax. Drop it. Don't let's " 

* Don't let's what?" 

* c Quarrel about nothing/' said Elfrida, 
opening her eyes and walking on very fast. 
( * \\Vre alw^vs doiine it. Auntie says it's a 




habit. If boys are so much splendider than 
girls, they ought to be able to stop when they 

" Suppose they don't like ? " said he, kicking 
his boots in the thick white dust. 

" Well," said she, " I'll say I'm sorry first 
Will that do?" 

"I was just going to say it first myself, " 
said Edred, in aggrieved tones. " Come on," 
he added, more generously, " here's the sign- 
post. Let's see what it says." 

It said, quite plainly and without any 
nonsense about it, that they had come a mile 
and three-quarters, adding, most unkindly, 
that it was eight miles to Arden Castle. But, 
it said, it was a quarter of a mile to Nunhill 

" Let's go by train," said Edred, grandly. 

"No money," said Elfrida, very forlornly 

" Aha ! " said Edred ; " now you'll see. Fm 
not mean about money. I brought my new 

"Oh, Edred," said the girl, stricken with 
remorse, "you are noble." 

"Pooh !" said the boy, and his ears grew 
red with mingled triumph and modesty ; 
" that's nothing. Come on." 

So it was from the train that the pilgrims 
got their first sight of Arden Castle. It 
stands up boldly on the cliff where it was set 
to keep off foreign foes and guard the country 
round about it. But of all its old splendour 
there is now nothing but the great walls that 
the grasses and wild flowers grow on, and 
round towers whose floors and ceilings have 
fallen away, and roofless chambers where owls 
build, and brambles and green ferns grow 
strong and thick. 

The children walked to the castle along the 
cliff path where the skylarks were singing like 
mad up in the pale sky, and the bean-fields, 
where the bees were busy, gave out the 
sweetest scent in the world. 

" Let's have dinner here," said Elfrida, when 
they reached the top of a little mound from 
which they could look down on the castle. 
So they had it. And all the time they were 
munching they looked down on the castle, 
and loved it more and more. 

" Don't you wish it was real, and we lived 
in it ? " Elfrida asked, when they had eaten 
as much as they wanted. 

"It is real, what there is of it." 

" Yes ; but I mean if it was a house with 
chimneys, and fireplaces, and doors with 
bolts, and glass in the windows." 

" I wonder if we could get in?" said Edred. 
'We might climb over," said Elfrida, look- 

Vol. xxxv.— 15. 

ing hopefully at the enormous walls, sixty 
feet high, in which no gate or gap showed. 

" There's an old man going across that 
field — no, not that one ; the very green field. 
Let's ask him." 

So they left their satchels lying on the 
short turf, and caught up with the old man 
just as he had clicked his garden gate behind 
him and had turned to go up the bricked 
path between beds of woodruff, and anemones, 
and narcissus, and tulips of all colours. 

The old man turned and saw at his gate 
two small figures dressed in what is known 
as sailor costume. They saw a very wrinkled 
old face with snowy hair and mutton-chop 
whiskers of a silvery whiteness. There were 
very bright twinkling blue eyes in the sun- 
browned old face, and on the clean-shaven 
mouth a kind, if light, smile. 

"Well?" said he; "and what do ;w/ 
want ? " 

" We want to know " said Elfrida. 

"About the castle," said Edred. "Can we 
get in and look at it ? " 

" I've got the keys," said the old man, and 
put his hand in at his door and reached them 
from a nail % 

" I s'pose no one lives there ? " said 

"Not now," said the old man, coming back 
along the garden path. "Lord Arden, he 
died a fortnight ago come Tuesday, and the 
place is shut up till the new lord's found." 

" I wish / was the new lord," said Edred, 
as they followed the old man along the lane. 

" An' how old might you be ? " the old 
man asked. 

"I'm ten nearly. It's my birthday to- 
morrow," said Edred. " How old are you ? " 

"Getting on for eighty. I've seen a deal 
in my time. If you was the young lord 
you'd have a chance none of the rest of them 
ever had — you being the age you are." 

" What sort of chance ? " 

" Why," said the old man, " don't you 
know the saying ? I thought everyone 
knowed it hereabouts." 

"What saying?" 

" I ain't got the wind for saying and walk- 
ing too," said the old man, and stopped ; 
"leastways, not potery." He drew a deep 
breath and said : — 

When Arden' s lord still lacketh ten 

And may not see his nine again, 

Let Arden stand as Arden may 

On Arden Knoll at death of day. 

If he have skill to say the spell 

lie shall find the treasure, and all be well ! 

" I say / " said both the children. " And 
where's Arden Knoll ? " Edred asked. 




u Up yonder." He pointed to the mound 
where they had had lunch, 

Elfrida inquired, " What treasure ? " 

But that question was not answered — then. 

11 If I'm to talk I must set me down," said 
the old man. " Shall us set down here, or 
set down inside of the castle ? n 

Two curiosities struggled, and the stronger 
won, " In the castle," said the children. 

So it was in the castle, on a pillar fallen 
from one of the chapel arches T that the old 
man sat down and related the story* 

"Well, then," said the old man, "you see, 
the Ardens was always great gentry, I've 

heard say there's always been Ardens here 
since before William the Conkrer, whoever 
he was." 

4< Ten-sixty-six, " said Edred to himself. 

"An' they had their ups and downs like 
other folks, great and small And once, 
when there was a war or trouble of some 
sort abroad, there w T as a lot of money, and 
jewlery, and plate hidden away. That's 
what it means by treasure. And the man 
who hid it got killed— ah T them was unsafe 
times to be alive in, I tell you — and nobody 
never knew where the treasure was hid." 

" Did they ever find it ? " 

** Ain't 1 telling you? An* a wise woman 
that lived in them old ancient times, they 
went to her to ask her what to do to find the 
treasure, and she had a fit directly, what you'd 
call a historical fit nowadays. She never said 

by Google 


Original from 



nothing worth hearing without she was in a 
fit, and she made up the saying all in potery 
whilst she was in her fit, and that was all they 
could get out of her. And she never would 
say what the spell was. Only when she was 
a-dying, Lady Arden, that was then, was very 
took up with nursing of her, and before she 
breathed her lastest she told Lady Arden the 
spell." He stopped for lack of breath. 

" And what is the spell ? " said the children, 
much more breathless than he. 

"Nobody knows. Bin I've 'eard say it's 
in a book in the libery in the house yonder. 
But it ain't no good, because there's never 
been a Lord Arden come to his title without 
he's left his ten years far behind him." 

Edred had a queerer feeling in his head 
than you can imagine ; his hands got hot and 
dry, and then cold and damp. 

" I suppose," he said, " you've got to be 
Lord Arden ? It wouldn't do if you were just 
plain John or James or Edred Arden ? 
Because my name's Arden, and I would like 
to have a try." 

The old man stooped, caught Edred by 
the arm, pulled him up, and stood him 
between his knees. 

" Let's have a look at you, sonny," he said, 
and had a look. "Aye," he said, "you're 
an Arden, for sure. To think of me not 
seeing that. I might have seen your long 
nose and your chin that sticks out like a 
spur. I ought to have known it anywhere. 
But my eyes ain't what they was. If you 

was Ix>rd Arden What's your father's 

name — his chrissened name, I mean ? " 

" Edred, the same as mine. But father's 
dead," said Edred, gravely. 

"And your grandf'er's name? It wasn't 
George, was it — George William ? " 

"Yes, it was," said Edred. "How did 
you know?" 

The old man let go Edred's arms and 
stood up. Then he touched his forehead 
and said : — 

" I've worked on the land 'ere man and 
boy, and I'm proud I've lived to see another 
Lord Arden take the place of him as is gone. 
Laukalive, boy, don't garp like that," he 
added, sharply. " You're Lord Arden right 

" I— I can't be," gasped Edred. 

" Auntie said Lord Arden was a relation of 
ours — a sort of great-uncle — cousin." 

" That's it, missy," the old man nodded. 
"Lord Arden — Chrissen name James — 'e 
was first cousin to Mr. George as was your 
grandf'er. His son was Mr. Edred, as is 
your father. The late lord not 'avin' any 

Digitized by LjOOglC 

sons — nor daughters neither for the matter 
of that— the title comes to your branch of 
the family. I've heard Singsworthy, the 
lawyer's apprentice, tell it over fifty times this 
last , three weeks. You're Lord Arden, I 
tell you." 

" If I am," said Edred, " I shall say the 
spell and find the treasure." 

" You'll have to be quick about it," said 
Elfrida. "You'll be over ten the day after 

" So I shall," said Edred. 

" When you're Lord Arden," said the old 
man, very seriously — " I mean, when you 
grow up to enjoy the title — as, please God, 
you may — you remember the poor and 
needy, young master — that's what you do." 

" If I find the treasure I will," said Edred. 

" You do it whether or no," said the old 
man. " I must be getting along home. 
You'd like to play about a bit, eh ? Well, 
bring me the keys when you've done. I can 
trust you not to hurt your own place, that's 
been in the family all these hundreds of 

" I should think you could ! " said Edred, 
proudly. " Good-bye, and thank you." 

"Good-bye, my lord," said the old man, 
and went 

" I say," said Edred, with the big bunch 
of keys in his hand — " if I am Lord Arden ! " 

" You are ! you are ! " said Elfrida. " I 
am perfectly certain you are. And I suppose 
I'm Lady Arden. How perfectly ripping! 
What's up ? " 

Edred was frowning and pulling the velvet 
Covering of moss off the big stone on which 
he had absently sat down. 

" Do you think it's burglarish," he said, 
slowly, " to go into your own house without 

" Not if it is your own house. Of course 
not," said Elfrida. 

"But suppose it isn't? They might put 
you in prison for it." 

" You could tell the policeman you thought 
it was yours. I say, Edred, let's " 

" It's not vulgar curiosity, like auntie says ; 
it's the spell I want," said the boy. 

11 As if I didn't know that," said the girl, 
contemptuously. " But where's the house ? * 

She might well ask, for there was no house 
to be seen — only the great grey walls of the 
castle, with their fine fringe of flowers and 
grass showing feathery against the pale blue 
of the June sky. Here and there, though, 
there were grey wooden doors set in the grey 
of the stone. 

"It must be one of those," Edred said. 




tl Well try all the keys and all the doors till 
we find it" 

So they tried all the keys and all the doors. 
It was the last door they tried that led into a 
long garden, and at the end of this garden 
was a narrow house with a red roof, wedged 
tightly in between two high grey walls that 
belonged to the castle. 

All the blinds were down, and it was very 
slowly, and with a feeling of being on tiptoe 
and holding their breaths 3 that they went up 
to those blinded windows that looked like 
sightless eyes. 

The from door was locked, and none of 
the keys would fit it 

Elfrida almost screamed, half with horror 
and half with admiration of his daring, when 

It was* They went all over the house, and 
it certainly was. Some of the upper roomy 
were very bare, but all the furniture was of 
the same kind as Aunt Edith's, and there 
were the same kind of pictures. Only the 
library was different, It was a very large 
room, and there were no pictures at all. 
Nothing but books and books and books f 
bound in yellowy leather. Books from ceiling 
to floor, shelves of books between the win- 
dows and over the mantelpiece— hundreds 
and thousands of books. Even Ed red's spirit 
sank. " It's no go. It will take us years to 
look in them all," he said. 

"We may as well look at some of them," 

said Elfrida, always less daring, but more 

persevering, than her brother- She sat down 

on the worn carpet and began to read 

the names on the backs of the books 

nearest to her. Time passed by. The 

Edred climbed up to a little 
window by means of an elder 
tree that grew close to it, tried 
to open the window, and when he 
found it fast deliberately pushed 
his elbow through the glass. 

"Thus/ 1 he said, rather unsteadily, 
" the heir of Arden Castle re-enters his 

He got the window open and dis- 
appeared through it, and presently a blind t( 
went up, a French window o|)ened, and 
there was Edred beckoning his sister with 
the air of a conspirator. 

It needed an effort to obey his signal, but 
she did it. He closed the French window, 
drew down the blind again, and 

"Oh, don't let's," said Elfrida. 

" Nonsense," said Edred ; " there's nothing 
to be frightened of. It's just like our rooms 
nt home." 

Digiiiz&d by K*Q< 


sunlight that came through the blinds had 
quite changed its place on the carpet, and 
still Elfrida persevered. Edred gruw more 
and more restless. 

But Elfrida plodded on, though her head 
and her back both ached, I wish I could 
say that her perseverance was rewarded. But 
it wasn't ; and one must keep to facts. As 
it happrmed,Otf cir?fl£l ft£<fred who, aimlessly 




running his finger along the edge of the 
bookshelf just for the pleasure of looking at 
the soft, mouse-coloured dust that clung to 
the finger at the end of each shelf, suddenly 
cried out, " What about this ? " and pulled 
out a great white book that had on its cover 
a shield printed in gold with squares and 
little spots on it, and a gold pig standing on 
the top of the shield, and on the back, " The 
History of the Arden Family." 

In an instant it was open on the floor 
between them, and they were turning its 
pages with quick, anxious hands. But, alas ! 
it was as empty of spells as dull old Burgess 

It was only when Edred shut it with a 
bang and the remark that he had had jolly 
well enough of it that a paper fluttered out 
and swept away like a pigeon, settling on the 
fireless hearth. And it was the spell. There 
was no doubt of that. 

Written in faint ink on a square yellowed 
sheet of letter-paper that had been folded 
once, and opened and folded again so often 
that the fold was worn thin and hardly held 
its two parts together, the writing was fine 
and pointed and ladylike. At the top was 
written : " The Spell Aunt Anne Told Me. — 
December 24, 1793." 

And then came the spell : — 

Hear, Oh badge of Arden's house, 
The spell my little age allows ; 
Arden speaks it without fear, 
Badge of Arden's house, draw near. 
Make me brave and make me wise, 
And show me where the treasure lies. 

" To be said," the paper went on, " at sun- 
setting by a Lord Arden between the com- 
pletion of his ninth and tenth years. But it 
is all folly and not to be believed." 

"This is it, right enough," said Edred. 
"Come on, let's get out of this." They 
turned to go, and as they did so something 
moved in the corner of the library — some- 
thing little, and they could not see its 

" Oh," said Elfrida, then, " I am so glad it's 
not at midnight you've got to say the spell. 
You'd be too frightened." 

" I shouldn't," said Edred, very pale and 
walking quickly away from the castle. " I 
should say it just the same if it was mid- 
night." And he very nearly believed what 
he said. 

Elfrida it was who had picked up the 
paper that Edred had dropped when that 
thing moved in the corner. She still held it 

44 1 expect it was only a rat or something," 
said Edred, his heart beating nineteen to the 
dozen, as they say in Kent and elsewhere. 

"Oh, yes," said Elfrida, whose lips were 
trembling a little ; " I'm sure it was only a rat 
or something." 

When they got to the top of Arden Knoll 
there was no sign of sunset. There was 
time, therefore, to pull oneself together, to 
listen to the skylarks, and to smell the bean- 
flowers, and to wonder how one could have 
been such a duffer as to be scared by a " rat 
or something." 

The children had not spoken for several 
minutes. Their four eyes were fixed on the 
sun, and as the edge of it seemed to flatten 
itself against the hill shoulder Elfrida 
whispered, " Now ! " and gave her brother 
the paper. 

They had read the spell so often, as they 
sat there in the waning light, that both knew 
it by heart, so there was no need for Edred 
to read it. And that was lucky, for in that 
thick, pink light the faint ink hardly showed 
at all on the yellowy paper. 
Edred stood up. 

" Now ! " said Elfrida, again. " Say it 
now. ' And Edred said, quite out loud and 
in a pleasant sort of sing-song, such as he 
was accustomed to use at school when reciting 
the stirring ballads of the late Lord Macaulay, 
or the moving tale of the boy on the burning 
deck : — 

Hear, Oh badge of Arden's house, 
The spell my little age allows ; 
Arden speaks it without fear, 
Badge of Arden's house, draw near. 
Make me brave and make me wise, 
And show me where the treasure lies. 

"Where the treasure lies," he ended, and 
the great silence of the downs seemed to 
rush in like a wave to fill the space which his 
voice had filled. 

And nothing else happened at all. A flush 
of pink from the sun setting spread over the 
downs, the grass stems showed up thin and 
distinct, the skylarks had ceased to sing, but 
the scent of the bean flowers and the sea- 
weed was stronger than ever. And nothing 
happened till Edred cried out, "What's 
that ? " For close to his foot something 
moved, not quickly or suddenly so as to 
startle, but very gently, very quietly, very 
unmistakably — something that glittered 
goldenly in the pink diffused light of the 
sun setting. 

" Why," said Elfrida, stooping, " why, 
it's " 

(To be continued.) , 

byG00g[ 'Original from 


Solutions of Puzzles and Problems in ike Christmas Number 








Mary's age Problem shows that she was 
once three times as old as Ann, so let us try 
12 to 4, which shows a difference of 1 1 
years, so, if iheir combined ages amount to 
44, Ann is I6yrs. 6m s. to Mary's 27yrs. 
timos., Mary being twice as old as Ann 
was (13.9) when Mary was (24.9) half as 
old as Ann will be when she is (49,6) three 
times as old as Mary was when Mary was 
three times as old as Ann I 




Original from 



IL — Solutions to DoaUe Dummy Bridge Problems. 

OF the problems published in the Decem- 
ber number hints were given as to the 
solutions of the Vienna coup and F. H. 
Lewis's problem. The solutions of the 
problems taken from Mr. Bergholt's book 
are published in that work, but are repro- 
duced here by permission. 

Mr. Bergholt's problem was as follows : — 

Hearts— Ace, 10, 3. 
Clubs— 5, 4, 3. 
Diamonds — Queen, 7, 3. 
Spades —Quee n, 9. 

Hearts— Knave, 8, 4, 2. 
Clubs— 8, 7, 6. 
Diamonds — Knave, 9, 
Spades— Knave. 



Hearts— King. 9, 5. 
Clubs — King, knave, 9. 
Diamonds — Ace, 5, 4. 
Spades— 8, 7. 

Hearts— Queen, 7, 6. 
Clubs — Ace, queen, 10, 2. 
Diamonds — King, ro, 8, 6. 
Spades— None. 
Hearts rre trumps. A to lead. A B to win eight out of the 
eleven tri< 'is. 

The task that A B have to do is to 
get tru .ips out and to have Z led through 
twice in clubs. A must try to put the lead 
into B's hand ; the next best thing is to put 
the lead into an adversary's hand. It is not 
hard to see that he must start with trumps, 
both because trumps are wanted out and 
because it is the only suit that can be opened 
without giving away a trick. 

The winning card is shown in italics. 

Tricks. A Y B Z 

1. Queen hearts 2 hearts 3 hearts 5 hearts 

2. 6 hearts 4 hearts Ace hearts 9 hearts 

3. 8 diamonds Knave spades Queen spades 7 spades 

4. to clubs 6 clubs 3 clubs 9 clubs 

5. 7 hearts 8 hearts 10 hearts King hearts 

6. 10 diamonds Knave hearts 9 spades 8 spades 

7. King diamonds 2 diamonds 7 diamonds Act diamonds 

8. 6 diamonds 9 diamonds Qn diamonds 4 diamonds 

9. Queen clubs 7 clubs 4 clubs Knave clubs 
jo. Ace clubs 8 clubs 5 clubs King clubs 
11. 2 clubs Knv diamonds 3 diamonds 5 diamonds 

Trick i. — A must lead the queen, not a 
small one, since he wishes to get away from 
the lead. If Z had won the queen A B's 
task would have been simple, since B would 
hold the tenace in trumps over Y. 

Trick 3. — If B does not lead the queen of 
spades now, the adversaries can keep the lead 
out of B's hand by leading clubs and making 
A open diamonds, and B will never make his 
queen of spades. It is of great importance 
that A should play the eight of diamonds to 
this trick, not the six, with a view to letting 
B get the lead in diamonds later on. 

Trick 6. — A must continue to play his 
higher diamonds. 

Trick 7. — B must play his seven of dia- 
monds in order to compel Z either to play 
the ace or leave the lead with B. If B had 
played his six of diamonds at either of tricks 
3 and 6, Z could have passed, leaving it to 

Digitized by CjOOQ IC 

A to win B's seven of diamonds. When Z 
plays the ace of diamonds A must throw his 
king, and the rest is easy. 

At trick 2, Z might have played the king 
of hearts, with the result that Y would win 
trick 5. There is no essential difference in 
the subsequent play. 

If at trick 7 Y leads a high diamond which 
A is allowed to win with the king, B will be 
left with a fourchette over Y. 

" Bedouin's " problem was : — 

Hearts— 0, 7. 
Clubs — King, 9, 5. 
Diamonds— King, 6. 

Hearts— Knave. 
Clubs— Ace, 10. 
Diamonds— None. 
Spades — Queen, 7, 6, 5. 


Hearts— 10, 

Clubs— Queen, 8, 7. 
Diamonds — Knave, 8. 
Spades — to. 

Hearts— None. 

Clubs— Knave, 6, 4. 

Diamonds — None. 

Spades— Knave, 9. 8, 3. 
Hearts are trumps. Z to lead. Y Z to win tour out of the 
seven tricks. 
Tricks. Z A Y B 

1. Knave spades Queen spades 7 hearts 10 spades 

2. 3 spades Knave hearts o hearts 10 hearts 

3. 4 clubs Ace clubs King clubs 7 clubs 

4. 8 spades 7 spades 6 diamonds 8 diamonds 

5. Knave clubs 10 clubs 5 clubs Queen clubs 

6. 6 clubs 5 spades Q clubs y 8 clubs 

7. 9 spades 6 spades Kg diamonds Knvdiamonds 

Trick i. — Z must, of course, play to 
establish spades. If A does not play the 
queen, Y will discard a small club ; Z will 
then lead a club and the rest of the play is 

Trick 3. — Y must throw the king, other- 
wise A B can play so that Z will never get 
in again. 

Trick 4. — Not able to keep Zout of the 
lead, A B have to try fresh tactics. 

Trick 5. — If Z goes on with his winning 
spade he will put his partner into difficulties 
with his discards. 

This was Dr. Milliken's problem :- 

Hcirts— Ace, queen, 10, 5, 3. 
Clubs — None. 
Diamonds— 8. 
Spades — to, 6, 5, 2. 

Hearts— King, knave, 8. 
Clubs — 5. 
Diamonds — Queen, 

knave, 9. 
Spades— 7, 4, 3. 



Hearts- 9, 7, 6, 4. 
Clubs — 9, 8, 7. 
Diamonds — None. 
Spades— King, knave. 

Hearts— None, 
Clubs— Ace, queen, 4. 
Diamonds — King, 10, 6, 5. 
Spades — Ace, queen, 0. 
Spades are trumps. A to lead. A B to win nine out of the 
ten tricks. 

The scheme of play is to put the lead 

ultimately into Z's hand to make him lead 

hearts up to B's tenace. He cannot compel 

Z to win the third round of trumps, since Z 

Original from 




has a smaller trump than A, which he should 
keep till the last. Hence the only way is 
with a losing club, and A must retain his 
four of clubs. But two leads of trumps 
through Z are also necessary. It follows that 
B must trump A's two winning clubs. The 
play is as follows : — 

Tricks. A 
i. Ace clubs 

2. Queen spades 

3. Queen clubs 

4. g spades 

5. Ace spades 

6. 4 clubs 

7. 5 diamonds 

8. 6 diamonds 

9. 10 diamonds 

nave spades 
8 clubs 
8 spades 
King spades 
Q clubs 
4 hearts 

Y B Z 

5 clubs 2 spades 7 clubs 

3 spades 5 spades 
9 diamonds 10 spades 

4 spades 6 spades 

7 spades 3 hearts 

8 hearts 5 hearts 
King hearts Ace hearts 
Knave hearts Queen hearts 6 hearts 
Knv diamonds 10 hearts 7 hearts 

10. Kg diamonds Qn diamonds 8 diamonds 9 hearts 

Trick 3. — B must trump with the ten to 
unblock A's tenace. 

Trick 6. — Y is forced to unguard either 
the heart or diamond suit. 

My own problem, published for the first 
time in The Strand, was this : — 

Hearts — Knave, o. 
Clubs— Ace, 8, 4, 3. 
Diamonds— 4, 3. 
Spades— King, 10, 9, 6, 4. 

Hearts — io, 6, 3. 
Clubs -5/ 
Diamonds— Ace, 

knave, 9, 7. 
Spades— Queen, 8, 7, 

5. *• 

Hearts— 5, 4. 

Clubs — King, queen, 

knave, 9, 7. 
Diamonds— Queen, 

6, 5- 
Spades — Ace, knave, 3. 

7, 2. 

Hearts— Ace, king, queen. 
Clubs — io, 6, 2. 
Diamonds— King, 10, 8, 2. 
Spades— None. 
Z declares hearts. A leads the five of clubs. Y Z to win two 
by cards. 

The idea underlying the solution is far- 
fetched, and the play is as unlike as possible 
to ordinary bridge play. The scheme is for 
Y to make his long spades. Y has three 
possible cards of entry, which are sufficient 
for getting rid of the higher cards against 
him, but not for regaining the lead. 
For Y to make his spades A must be 
compelled to lead the suit. To this end the 
dealer must take measures that B may never 
have the lead. B's dangerous card is the 
queen of diamonds. To make • the queen 
harmless B must be put in the position of 
third player when diamonds are led. For 
this purpose the dealer must sacrifice a trick 
in trumps. Once started on the right idea, 
solvers will find the play simple, as there are 
practically no variations. 


Ace clubs 
4 spades 
9 hearts 
6 spades 

Tricks. A 

1. 5 clubs 

2. 1 *pades 

3. 6 hearts 

4. 5 spades 

5. 10 hearts 

6. 7 spades 

7. J hearts 

8. diamonds 

9. Knv dia monds 4 d tamon ds 
to. Ace diamonds 4 clubs 

11. J diamonds 8 clubs 
is. 8 spades to spades 

13. Queen spades King spades 

Knave hearts 5 hearts 

9 spades 

3 clubs 

3 diamonds 

B Z 

7 clubs 2 clubs 

3 spades Queen hearts 

4 heaits 7 hearts 
Knave spades A" ing hearts 

Ace spades 
9 clubs 

5 diamonds 

6 diamonds 
Qn diamonds 
Knave clubs 
Queen clubs 
fen j clubs 

6 by \j>C 

8 hearts 
Ace hearts 
2 hearts 
8 diamonds 
to diamonds- 
King diamonds 
2 diamonds 
6 clubs 
to clubs 1 

IIL — Solutions to Chess Problems* 

No. 1. By B. G. Laws. 


(1) R to R 4 th 

(2) Q to K 2nd 

(3) Q to R 5th (mate) 

(2) Kt to B 7th (ch) 

(3) R takes P (mate) 

(2) Kt takes P 

(3) Kt to B 3rd (mate) 

(2) R to R 5th (ch) 

(3) Q to K 2nd (mate) 


(1) P takes R, or (a), (6), 

(2) P takes P [(r), (d) 


P to B 7th or Kt 6th 
K takes Kt 


(1) P to R 4th 

(2) Any move 


(1) 1' to Kt 5th 

(2) K takes P 


(1) B to B 3rd 
(2) Q takes B, mating next move 

No. 2. By S. Loyd. 


(1) P takes B, becoming a 

(2) Kt to Kt 6th [Kt (2) Any move 

(3) P to Q R 8th becoming Queen (mate) 



) K takes Kt 


(1) K to Q 

(2) RtoQ 

(3) Q "> Q 



Q 7 th 
" 5th 
4th (mate) 

By Frank Healey. 

(1) K to K 5th 

(2) K takes R 

No. 4. By G. 


(i) B to R 5th 

(2) Mates accordingly 

(1) Any move 

No. 5. By Dr. C. Planck. 


(1) Q to Kt 4th (1) Any move 

(2) Mates accordingly 

IV. — Author's Solution to Problem of how io 
place Eight Queens on a Chessboard so 
that none attacks any other. 

m wm 


w ■■■■■ 





\> ' 1! 

mi m 



HE following picture - puzzles, 
designed by various ingenious 
artists, are of the kind which 
never Fail to supply amusement 
to children of all ages between 
eight and eighty. There is a peculiar 
fascination in the task of attempting to bring 
to light the figure so skilfully concealed 
among the lines of the picture, which some- 
times eludes the eye so long, only at last to 
spring to sight .so suddenly and conspicuously 
that the wonder is how it could possibly 
have escaped notice for a moment In the 
following illustrations the hidden subjects are 
all large and striking, so that if the solver 
has any doubts as to whether he has found 

one he may be certain, that he has failed. The 
puz/Jes are of various decrees of difficulty, 
some being comparatively easy, while others 
will be found by most solvers to require 
considerable study. But even in this there 
is an amusing difference between one solver 
and another ; one who is not particularly apt 
at "spotting" the concealed figures some- 
times perceiving the most difficult (such, for 
example, as that of "The Watchman" on 
the third page) almost at the first glance, 
while we have known a really clever solver 
gaze for ten minutes at the tiger's heid at 
the end of the article without being able to 
"find his keeper," who seems, when found, 
almost as conspicuous as the animal itself. 

A meeting erf AnarchUii* Where is the detective ? 

Where w the dog ? 

Where is her s^ 
Vol. xxKV.-te 

eelhear. ? 

This gcmMWOfli f^lBtfaWp Where it he ? 




* Where is the thief who has been taking my cigars ? '* 

' Author 1 Author ! " He bows, hut where > 

Where is the platfjrm speaker > 

Where is the man who is snoring } 

Where is the preacher ? 


Whw*lii|llh&lrhtoinfc fireman ? 




" Slop thief 1 " Where is he ? 

Where is the night walchman ? 

" There's amah lying on his back I here. Bill.' 
*' Where ? I can't see him," 

Her lover calls. Where from ? 






■ 1^ 

W9 rlr^ 








\v \J 


/ ^d 



v ^^3& 



Find the girl and her grandmother. 



[ W? shail be &fad to t'fctwe Contributions to this section , and to pay for such as are accepted.] 
Copyright, 1907, by G«rgt Newnts, Limited. 


THE cow shown in iny photograph has a habit 
of getting the tub on and oft her head as she 
desires She stands nil day with it nn her head, and 
if someone removes it she immediately gets it back 
again, before taking the picture ] put (he tub away 
from ber upside down, but she bad it on her bead in 
a minute. — Mr. W\ F, Orahood, 1,123, hake Shore 
Avenue, Los Angeles, California, 


T -H wr\r. • 


V photograph depicts the lesult of a curious 

accident which happened a short lime a^o. 

A dray-horse ran away and endeavoured to enter a pro- 

vision shop zrid the window, and ^ 

a r lcr clearing up the curious- look- p 
ing object shown here was found, h 
Consists of a piece of pi ale -glass 
evict I y a foot long which lias tit en 
driven righl through a large tin of 
sardines. A man who was trying 
to stop the horse narrowly escaped 
being transfixed in a similar man- 
ner, a great deal of the glass 
sliding down Ins ljack T without, 
however, seriously injuring him. 
^Mr, F. G. Perkins, 13, Royal 
Avenue, Wheat ley, Don easier/ 


WHILE fishing last autumn 
on one of the Norfolk 
Hronds I left a small keep-net out 
at ni^ht on ihe broad with one or 
two fairly large roach in i(. 

coming in ihe morning I was surprised to 
find a l?aby pike, only a few inches long, 
caught in the mesh in his frantic efforts l<i 
attack and eat the roach [twice its site) in the 
net- The tiny pike was in every detail as per- 
fect as a monster of twenty pounds, and, 
allowing for siae, seemed quite as fierce* — 
Mr, A. Verey, 54, Cavendish Road, Kil- 
burn, N,W. 


THIS is a facsimile of a post-card which 
was posted and delivered in Newcasile- 
on-Tyne, C ()j, the chemical term for car- 
bonic acid gas, being surHci en t for the postal 
officials, and, of course, the N\ C is enough 
locally for Newcastle. The name of the firm is '* The 
Carbonic Acid Gas Co." I wonder if any of your readers 
eou!d qu >te an address :i.s short ?— Mr. Geo, VV b Moore, 
4, Windsor Terrace, Whitley Bay* Northumberland, 



■'•/■ HI (,'!' I.J- 

<**■ 1 I a K ■•» 1 K. , 


6. 4= 

n 6'. 

flj Googli 

Original from 



APRIL 10th /05 
Fegko EojancRy owz fer Hifcolay 
Fernyc j£5 Dolars yuh heftu gibytum 
raidowyi hizmoni bath af yuh donth 
gitrytum hi&oun suw yuh naeii 
gotm Kostu yulraohr 
NiXolay Fernyc 

later, when the meeting was on, not a person there 
would have lived. The stone is called Maen Mawr. 
The new chapel, but] I since in a safer place, can be 
seen in the fjackground of the picture. — Mr. K, A. 
Williams, Porth-yr-Aur, Carnarvon. 


I SEND you a curious letter. It was written on 
a type writer by a foreigner (Pole). He speaks 
fairly intelligible English, hut bis w riling is harder to 
understand. The folio wing is what he thinks he is 
writing: "April loth, /05. Kegko Bojancky owes 
for Nikolay Fernyc twenty five dollars. You have to 
give it to him right away, his money , but if you don't 
give it to him he is going to sue you, then going to 
cost to you more, N I KOLA? KkRNYC-"— Mr. O. L» 
Bonny castle, 903, Union Bank Block, Winnipeg, 


THE rock shown here annihilated a whole chapel 
in Dms-y Coed, Nan tile Valley, near Car- 
narvon. In January, 1&92, there stood a small chapel 
in Drus-y- Coed, attached to which was the keeper's 
house, where lay his son's dead body. One 
evening there was to have Wen held, at six o'clock, 
the customary Welsh " W linos," or prayer- meeting, 
usually held at the house where the body is lying, but 
in this case the service was to have been held at the 
chipel ; at about 5,30 p.m., however, a huge boulder 
came hurtling down from a height of quite 5°°^* 
clean on to the chapel, leaving not a stone standing. 
The frightened people ran out of the house and saw 
what had happened. Had the stone fallen a few feet 
more to the N.E. , it would have killed every living 
person in the house, or had it come thirty minutes 

by LiOOglC 

r PHE Salfbttfn Times gave, some time ago, the 
X following account of an est inordinary t-isc of 
kite- flying ; " The children of Mr, Bowes, of Monk- 
end, Croft , whilst on a visit to Saltburn, have had an 
interesting experience of the flying capabilities of a 
kite, with which they were amusing themselves on 
Saturday afternoon, August 31st. About half- past 
three the string broke close to the hand of ihc flyer, 
and the kite forthwith made seaward s» towing the 
length of two balls of string in its wake. Naturally 
it was given up for lost, but the owners were agree- 
ably surprised to learn that it had been found in 
Holland. The kite has now been received by its 

owners in perfect con- 
dition from Mynheer 
K. Van der Steen, 
postmaster^ Makkum- 
on -Zee, Holland, to 
whom it had l*een 
handed by the peasanl 
children who found 
it, the string having 
caught on a telcgTaph- 
pole. It was found on 
Sunday at three p.m,, 
and Mr. Howes re- 
ceived intimation of its 
having been found by 
the first post on Tues- 
day morning. It is 
Supposed that the string 
being d ragged in the 
water kept the kite in 
propir position during 
Us long flight of some 
two hundred and 
seventy - five miles." 
W T e are indebted to 
Mr. Bowes for the 
photograph reproduced 


i iS 



I WAS looking out of my window the other day when 1 
saw a must cuHou* sight- Two small children were play- 
ing with a hoop. A fhxrk of geese crossed the road., and one, 
the biggest of these, ran partly through the hoop. The hoop 
was over one wing in such a way that the faster the goose 
went the faster the hoop bowled along, each flap of its wing 
against ihe inside of the hoop giving it fresh impetus* The 
other geese, of course, followed, cackling at the top of their 
voices, and it was surprising how long the hoop was thus kept 
up. The two little girls did not seem to see the funny side of it, 
bit ran frantically after them and the runaway hoop. — Mr, A. 
Collinson, 5, Seflon Villas, North HoLmwood, near Dorking. 


r pHESE two tooth- 
X ache charms 
were got not very long 
ago— Ihe one in what 
appears to be Greek 
characters from a 
14 skilly woman" in 
Caithness, and the 
olher — which, not- 
withslanding the 
shaky hand in which 
it is written, is easily 
decipherable — was 
got from a lonely old 
weaver in Sutherland- 
shire. In both ruse* 
Ihc ts directions for 
use* were the same — 
viz +1 that it be worn 
under the clothing and 

over the hearl. It is proljahle that there 
are now very few of these charms in exist- 
ence, as they were given in cases when al 
the other many *' cures " known to thesv. 
witch-doctors were exhausted, and were 
returnable to the " doctor. * (Qualified 
medical officers have become so numerous 
in these counties within ihe past ten years, 
<u\<\ sutler ers therefore so very seldom 
have recourse to any ** wise " old ^ien or 
women, thai the profession of witch ■doctor 
is uIhhil defunct, — Mr. Alexander Poison, 
The School house, Xigg, Ross -shire* 


FAili is a photograph of a cartridge 
that was pierced by a Mauser bullet 
whilst I was serving wi(h an regiment 
(joth Hussars) during the South African 
War* The bullet came over two ranges 
of hills, passing clean through the carl- 
ridge, which was in my bandolier, and 
then entered my I Kick within half an inch 
of my spinal cord. The cartridge did not 
explode, the cordite still being intact, — 
Mr. b W. Taylor I, 1/mgbeach Road, 
Lit vender El ill" SAW 

**4*}t*t/C-** £&£+. 

" vGooglo an¥iniLfrQm — —— 




a photograph of a teacup which I dropped. 
On picking it up I was astonished to find I hat 
it was broken exactly in I wo equal parts. — Mr. Fred. 
S. Sutton, 124, Earl's Court Road, Kensington, S,W, 


THE remarkable 
object shown 

here consists of a 

small bronze bell 

having a cross ■ bar 

chipper, To this is 

suspended, by a tiny 

diain, a ihin, flat, 

bronze figure of a 

lish. When this re- 
markable charm is 

filing up outside a 

house or garden in 

Korea, as a protec- 
tion against the evil 

eye or such - like 

dangers, the slightest 

wind moves the fish 
and thus causes the l>ell to ring. Nisi only is the ringing of 
a I veil generally considered a safeguard against evil spirits, but 
the fish itself is a powerful Oriental symbol. — Mr. E. Lovelt, 
41, Outram Road, Croydon. 

'HERE has long l»een a tradition that animals love music, 
and this photograph is yet another proof of the fact, The 
young girl, \*ho lives on a big: Western farm in the Slates, goes 
out and sings to the sheep, which run to her. As soon as she 
stops they stretch their faces up to her and rub their heads against 
her as if pleading whh her to go on anew. While she is singing 



THE foregoing picture is of what is 
called a Chinese praying chair s and 
is used as a means of torture in some parts 
of Chtna to this day. As will he seen from 
the photograph, sharp blades arc provided 
for the hack, seat, and fin it -rest, while for 
the ann-ri-sis sharp spikes are used, and 
into this chair the unfortunate victim is 
made to sit, and> presumably, prays to 
l»e released, hence the name "praying 
chair." I may add that the original is in 
my possession, having recently been forwarded from 
China, --Mr. B. S* Lee, to, Wellington Avenue, 
Lower Edmonton, N* 


they stand still around her and listen with delight. 
The photograph was taken by Mr, A* J. Sirausen, of 
Minn* — Mr* O* S* Berry, Box 237, Brooklyn, N.V. 


IT is surprising what seemingly im- 
possible figures can \*e drawn by 
means of one continuous line. The dia- 
grams here depict ex I show what can be 
done. In their construction the pencil 
must not travel over the same line more 
than once. For the convenience of 
readers a solution which explains itself 
is given in Fig 2. — Mr, Harry 
Crowter, iS, Nelson Street, King's 





I SEND a photograph of a unique wasps* nest. The tennis 
racquet stood upon a shelf in the far corner of a small 
outbuilding used for the housing of lawn-tennis and croquet 


T^HERE may be no 
X point at first sight in 
the drawing that 1 am 
sending you, but if the 
page upon which it is 
printed is given a. rotary 
motion in the manner 
illustrated in the adjoin- 
ing diagram it will appear 
as though there were a 
sixpence on one side of the centre of the circle. The 
faster ilie whirling the bigger the coin seems to become. 
— Mr, Lionel G» Lutyens, St. Mary's Lodge, Bedford. 


THE walk hy Professor Joy Baldwin, illustrated 
here, Is the highest and longest in the history of 
the world. Nothing like it hits evtr been attempted 
liefore. The walk of five hundred and eighty- two feet 
long over a gulf five hundred and fifty -five feet, deep 
which took place at Eldorado Springs, Col., look him 
sis and a half minutes to accomplish. Even the gelling 
of this picture was not without ii* danger.— Copyright 
photo., 1907, hy Mr. Ed Tan-gen, Boulder, Colorado, 


requirements, garden chairs, etc* The nest, an 
unusually strong one, w r as fully a foot thick each way, 
the photograph merely showing the outer shell built 
upon the racquet, as it was impossible to get the whole 
nest away intact* The gut -si ring network of the 
racquet was eaten entirely away where it came in 
contact with the nest. Mr. Geo. J t Knott, Water 
End, North Minims, Hatfield, 

SKND you the photograph of a parrot that 
belongs to a friend of mine- It will be noitced 

that the bird's wings 
are on the hfeast in- 
stead of the hack, as 
is the case with all 
other self-respecting 
parrots. The bird is 
very healthy and con- 
tented, being quite 
Lame and a moderate 
talker, and, si range 
to say, it does not 
suffer any inconveni- 
ence through this 
extraordinary freak of 
Nature. -Mr. T. C- 

\\ hallev, J7, W insanity Road, 
Waterloo, Liverpool. 


"X Tt F HAT at first sight seems 
V V to Ik? a giant caterpillar 
is in reality the photograph of 
a layer of powdered white lead 
along the lop of which a vibrat- 
ing metal sphere has been 
passed. The impressions made 
are, of course, concave, but 
if the "head" of the 4( cater- 
pillar M be held pointing 10- 
wards a source of light the 
shadows of the "waves" in 
the photograph give the idea 
thai the Impressions sure convex, 
thus imparting the larva-like 
appearance. — Mr. Harold R + 
I'arkes, z, Church Street, 

Southport, i^FKjjnalfroim 


(""rw^nL'' Original from 




is** $&£* n*>) 

by Google 

Original from 

The Strand Magazine 

Vol. XXXV. 

FEBRUARY, 1908. 

No. 206. 

The Chase of the Golden Plate. 





6 W® E s - F - x « VAN OUSEN, 
Ph.D., LL.D., F.R.S., M.D., 
etc., was the Court of Last 
Appeal in the sciences. 

Thirty-five of his fifty years 
had been devoted to logic, study, analysis 
of cause and effect, material and psycho- 
logical. By his personal efforts he had 
mercilessly flattened out and readjusted at 
least two of the exact sciences, and had added 
immeasurably to the world's sum of know- 
ledge in others. Once he had held the 
Chair of Philosophy in a great University, 
but casually one day he promulgated a thesis 
that knocked the faculty's eye out, and he 
was invited to resign. It was a dozen years 
later that that University had openly resorted 
to influence and diplomacy to induce him to 
accept its LL.D. 

This, then, was the Thinking Machine. 
This last title, the Thinking Machine, per- 
haps more expressive of the real man than 
a yard of honorary initials, was coined by 
Hutchinson Hatch, reporter at the time of 
the scientist's defeat of a chess champion 
after a single morning's instruction in the 
game. The Thinking Machine had asserted 
that logic was inevitable, and that game had 
proved his assertion. Since the game there 
had grown up a strange friendship between 
the crabbed scientist and the reporter. 

Now the Thinking Machine sat in a huge 
chair in his reception-room, with long, slender 
fingers pressed tip to tip and squint eyes 
turned upward. Hatch was talking — had been 
talking for more than an hour with infrequent 
interruptions. In that time he had laid bare 

the facts as he and the police knew them, 
Vol. xxxv.— 17, 

Digitized by V_*OOgle 

from the incidents of the masked ball at 
Seven Oaks to the return of Dollie Meredith. 

" Now, Mr. Hatch," asked the Thinking 
Machine, " just what is known of this second 
theft of the gold plate ? " 

" It's simple enough," explained the re- 
porter. " It was plain burglary. Some 
person entered the Randolph house on 
Monday night by cutting out a pane of glass 
and unfastening a window-latch. Whoever 
it was, took the plate and escaped." 

" I presume on its return Mr. Randolph 
ordered the plate to be placed in the small 
room as before ? " 

44 Yes." 

44 Please go on." 

"The police absolutely decline to say 
as yet just what evidence they have against 
Herbert, beyond the finding of the plate in 
his possession," the reporter resumed, *'though 
Lord knows that's enough. They will not 
say, either, how they first came to connect 
him with the affair. Detective Mallory 
doesn't M 

14 When and where was Mr. Herbert 
arrested ? " 

" Yesterday (Tuesday) afternoon, in his 
rooms. Fourteen pieces of the gold plate 
were on the table." 

" Yes, yes. Please go on." 

44 The plate was all spread out — there was 
no attempt to conceal it," Hatch resumed. 
44 There was a box on the floor, and Herbert 
was about to pack the stuff in it when 
Detective Mallory and two of his men 
entered. Herbert's servant, Blair, was away 
from the house at the time. His people are 
away too, so he was alone." 

" Nothing but the gold plate was found ? " 

Ql I I '.' I 1 1 




" Lord, yes! 1 ' exclaimed the reporter. 
" There was a lot of jewellery in a case and 
fifteen or twenty odd pieces - ten thousand 
pounds' worth of stuff at least* The police 
took it to find the owners," 

** Dear me ! dear me!" exclaimed the 
Thinking Machine, " Why didn't you men- 
tion the jewellery at first ? Wait a minute/' 

Hatch was silent while the scientist eon- 
tinued to squint at the ceiling, He wriggled 
in his chair uncomfortably, and smoked a 
couple of cigarettes before the Thinking 
Machine turned to him and asked: — 

** Did Mr* Herbert say anything when 
arrested ? n 

lt No ; nothing to me or anybody else- 
He was arraigned at a preliminary hearing, 
pleaded not guilty, and was released on four 
thousand pounds bail. Some of his rich 
friends furnished it." 

i£ Did he give any reason for his refusal 
to say anything?" insisted the Thinking 
Machine, testily, 

" He remarked to me that he wouldn't say 
anything, because even if he told the 
whole truth no one would believe him/ 1 

"As I under- 
stand it," the 
scientist went on, 
"you did not be- 
lieve Herbert guilty 
of the first theft? 

" Well, because 
— because he's not 
that sort of man," 
explained the re 
porter. "I've 
known him for 
years, personally 
and by reputation." 

M Was ho a par- 
ticular friend of 
yours at college ? " 

" No, not an inti- 
mate ; but he was 
of my year — and 
he's a splendid 
football player." 
T h a t s f [ u a r e d every- 

14 Do you now be- 
lieve him guilty?" 
insisted the scien- 

" I can't believe 
anything else — and 
yet I'd stake my life 
on his honesty." 

"And Miss Meredith?" 

The reporter was reaching the explosive 
point. He had seen and talked to Miss 
Meredith, you know. 

u It's perfectly asinine to suppose that she 
had anything to do with either theft, don't 
you think ? " 

The Thinking Machine was silent on that 

"Well, Mr. Hatch," he said, finally, "the 
problem comes down to this : Did a man, 
and perhaps a woman, who are circum- 
stantially proved guilty of stealing the gold 
plate, actually steal it ? We have the stained 
cushion of the car in which the thieves 
escaped to indicate that one of them was 
wounded ; we have Mr. Herbert with an 
injured right shoulder— a hurt received that 
night on his own statement, though he won't 
say how. We have then the second theft, 
and the finding of the stolen property in his 
possession, along with another lot of stolen 
stuff —jewels. It is apparently a settled case 
now without going farther." 

" But——" Hatch started to protest 

" But suppose we do go a little farther," 


by Google 

Original from 



the Thinking Machine went on. " I can 
prove definitely, conclusively, and finally by 
settling only two points : whether or not Mr. 
Herbert was wounded while in the motor- 
car. If so, he was the first thief; if not, 
he wasn't. If he was the first thief, he was 
probably the second ; but even if he were not 
the first thief, there is of course a possibility 
that he was the second." 

Hatch was listening with mouth open. 

" Suppose we begin now," continued the 
Thinking Machine, " by finding out the 
name of the physician who treated Mr. 
Herbert's wound last Thursday night. Mr. 
Herbert may have a reason for keeping the 
identity of this physician secret, but perhaps 
— wait a minute," and the scientist dis- 
appeared into the next room. He was gone 
for five minutes. " See if the physician who 
treated the wound wasn't Dr. Clarence 

The reporter blinked a little. 

" Right," he said. " What next ? " 

" Ask him something about the nature of 
the wound and all the usual questions." 

Hatch nodded. 

" Then," resumed the Thinking Machine, 
casually, "bring me some of Mr. Herbert's 

The reporter blinked a good deal, and 
gulped twice. 

"How much?" he inquired, briskly. 

" A single drop" on a small piece of glass 
will do very nicely," replied the scientist. 


The Supreme Police Intelligence was 
deeply cogitating when the Thinking 
Machine called. The Supreme Intelli- 
gence — Mr. Mallory — knew Professor Van 
Dusen well, and, while he received him 
graciously, he showed no difficulty in re- 
straining any undue outburst of enthusiasm. 

" Ah, Professor ! " was his non-committal 

"Good evening, ' responded the scientist, 
in the thin, irritated voice which always set 
Mr. Mallory's nerves a-jangle. " I don't 
suppose you would tell me by what steps 
you were led to arrest Mr. Herbert?" 

" I would not," declared Mr. Mallory, 

" No ; nor would you inform me of the 
nature of the evidence against him in 
addition to the jewels and plate found in 
his possession?" 

" I would not," replied Mr. Mallory again. 

"No, I thought perhaps you would not," 
remarked the Thinking Machine. " I under - 


stand, by the way, that one of your men took 
a leather cushion from the motorcar in 
which the thieves escaped on the night of the 
ball, and. wanted to inquire if it would be 
permissible for me to see that cushion ?" 

Detective Mallory glared at him sus- 
piciously, then slowly his heavy face relaxed, 
and he laughed as he arose and produced the 

" If you're trying to make any mystery of 
this thing, you're making a mess of it," he 
informed the scientist. " We know the 
owner of the car in which Herbert and the 
girl escaped. The cushion means nothing." 

The Thinking Machine examined the heavy 
leather carefully, and paid a great deal of 
attention to the crusted stains which it bore. 
He picked at one of the brown spots with his 
penknife, and it flaked off in his hand. 

" Herbert was caught with the goods on 
him," declared the detective, and he thumped 
the desk with his lusty fist. " We've got the 
right man." 

"Yes," admitted the Thinking Machine, 
" it begins to look very much as if you had 
got the right man — for once." 

Detective Mallory snorted. 

" Would you mind telling me if any of the 
jewellery you found in Mr. Herbert's posses- 
sion has been identified ? " 

"It has," replied the detective. "That's 
where I've got Herbert. Four people who 
lost jewellery at the masked ball have 
appeared and claimed pieces of the stuff." 

" Indeed ? " inquired the scientist, thought- 
fully. He was still gazing at the cushion. 

" And the most important development of 
all is to come," Detective Mallory rattled on. 
" That will be the real sensation, and make 
the arrest of Herbert seem purely incidental. 
It now looks as if there would be another 
arrest, of a — of a person who is so high 
socially and all that, that " 

"Yes," interrupted the Thinking Machine; 
" but do you think it would be wise to arrest 
her now ? " 

"Her?" demanded Detective Mallory. 
" What do you know of any woman ? " 

" You were speaking of Miss Dorothy 
Meredith, weren't you ? " inquired the 
Thinking Machine, blandly. " Well, I 
merely said I didn't think it would be wise 
for your men to go so far as to arrest her." 

The detective bit his cigar in two in 
obvious perturbation. 

" How — how did you happen to know her 
name ? " he demanded. 

" Oh, Mr. Hatch mentioned it to me," 
replied the scientist. " He has known of 
\jx i Q i n d i rrorn 




her connection with the case for several days 
as well as Herbert's, and has talked to them 
both, I think." 

The Supreme Intelligence was nearly 

"If Hatch knew it, why didn't he tell 
me ? " he thundered. 

" Really, I don't know," responded the 
scientist. " Perhaps," he added, curtly, " he 
may have had some absurd notion that you 
would find it out for yourself." 

And when Detective Mallory had fully 
recovered the Thinking Machine was gone. 

Meanwhile Hatch had seen and questioned 
Dr. Clarence Walpole in the latter's surgery, 
only a stone's throw from Dick Herbert's 
home. Had Dr. Walpole recently dressed a 
wound for Mr. Herbert ? Dr. Walpole had, 
A wound caused by a pistol bullet ? Yes. 

11 When was it, please ? " asked Hatch. 

"Thursday night, or rather Friday morn- 
ing," he replied. "It was between two and 
three o'clock. He came here, and I attended 
to him." 

" Where was the wound, please ? " 

" In the right shoulder," replied the physi- 
cian, "just here," and he touched the reporter 
with a long finger. "It wasn't dangerous, 
but he had lost considerable blood." 

Hatch was silent for a moment, dazed. 
Every new point piled up the evidence 
against Herbert. 

" I don't suppose Mr. Herbert explained 
how he got the wound ? " Hatch asked, 
apprehensively. He was afraid he had. 

" No. I asked, but he evaded the ques- 
tion. It was, of course, none of my business 
after I had extracted the bullet and dressed 
the hurt." 

"You have the bullet?" 

"Yes. It's the usual size — thirty two 

That was all. The case was proved, the 
verdict rendered. Ten minutes later Hatch's 
name was announced to Dick Herbert. Dick 
received him gloomily, shook hands with 
him, then resumed his interrupted pacing. 

" I had declined to see men from other 
papers," he said, wearily. 

" Now look here, Dick," expostulated 
Hatch, " don't you want to make some state- 
ment of your connection with this affair? I 
honestly believe if you did it would help 

" No, I cannot make any statement — 
that's all," and Dick's hand closed fiercely. 
" I can't," he added, " and there's no need 
to talk of it." He continued his pacing for 
a moment or so, then turned on the reporter. 

by Google 

" Do you believe me guilty ? " he demanded, 

" Lord, I can't believe anything else," 
Hatch replied, falteringly. "But at that I 
don't want to believe it." There was an 
embarrassed pause. " I have just seen Dr. 
Clarence Walpole." 

"Well?" and Dick wheeled on him angrily. 

"What he said alone would convict you, 
even if the plate had not been found here," 
Hatch replied. 

"Are you trying to convict me?" Dick 

"I'm trying to get the truth," remarked 

"There is just one man in the world 
whom I must see before the truth can ever 
be told," declared Dick, vehemently. " And 
I can't find him now. I don't know where 
he is." 

"Let me find him. Who is he? What's 
his name ? " 

" If I told you that I might as well tell 
you everything," Dick went on. " It was to 
prevent any mention of that name that I 
have allowed myself to be placed in this 
position. It is purely a personal matter 
between us — at least, I will make it so— and 
if I ever meet him" — his hands closed and 
unclosed spasmodically— "the truth will be 
known, unless I- -I kill him first." 

Half an hour later Hatch left him. On 
the glass top of an inkstand he carried three 
precious drops of Herbert's blood. 


Faithfully Hatch repeated to the Thinking 
Machine the conversation he had had with 
Dr. Walpole, indicating on the person of the 
eminent scientist the exact spot of the wound, 
as Dr. Walpole had indicated it to him. The 
scientist listened without comment to the 
recital, casually studying meanwhile the three 
crimson drops on the glass. 

" Dr. Walpole's statement," the Thinking 
Machine went on after a moment, " makes 
this particular problem ludicrously simple. 
Two points alone show conclusively that Mr. 
Herbert was not the man in the motor-car. 
I shall reach the third myself." 

Hatch didn't say anything for lack of 

" Now, Mr. Hatch," resumed the scientist, 

quite casually, " I understand you graduated 

at Oxford in ninety-eight. Yes ? Well, 

Herbert was a fellow-student of yours there. 

Please obtain for me one of the printed lists 

of students who were at Oxford that year — a 

complete list" 

Original from 




" I have one at home," said the reporter. 

"Get it, please, immediately, and return 
here," instructed the scientist. 

Hatch went out and the Thinking Machine 
disappeared into his laboratory. When he 
came out again he found the reporter sitting 
in the reception - room, holding his head. 
The scientist's face was as inscrutable as ever. 

" Here is the list," said Hatch, as he 
handed it over. 

The Thinking Machine took it in his long, 
slender fingers and turned two or three leaves. 
Finally he stopped and ran a finger down 
one page. 

11 Ah ! " he exclaimed at last. " I thought 

" Thought what ? " asked Hatch, curiously. 

44 I'm going out to see Mr. Meredith now," 
remarked the Thinking Machine, irrelevantly. 
" Have you met him ? " 


" Then come with me." 

Mr. Meredith had read the newspaper 
accounts of the arrest of Dick Herbert, and 
the seizure of the gold plate and jewels; 
had taunted his charming daughter with it in 
a fatherly sort of a way. She was weeping — 
weeping her heart out over this latest proof 
of the perfidy and loathsomeness of the man 
she loved. Incidentally it may be mentioned 
here that the astute Mr. Meredith was not 
aware of any elopement plot — either the first 
or last. 

When a card bearing the name of Mr. 
Augustus S. F. X. Van Dusen was handed 
to Mr. Meredith, he went wonderingly into 
the reception-room. There was a pause as 
the scientist and Mr. Meredith mentally sized 
each other up, then introductions, and the 
Thinking Machine came to business, abruptly 
as always. 

" May I ask, Mr Meredith," he began, 
" how many sons you have ? " 

44 One," replied Mr. Meredith, puzzled. 

44 May I ask his present address?" went on 
the scientist. 

Mr. Meredith studied the belligerent eyes 
of his caller, and wondered what business it 
was of his, for Mr. Meredith was a belligerent 
sort of a person himself. 

44 May /ask," he inquired, with pronounced 
emphasis on the personal pronoun, 4t why you 
want to know ? " 

Hatch rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He 
was wondering what would happen to him 
when the cyclone struck. 

44 It may save him and you a great deal of 
annoyance if you will give me his address," 
said the Thinking Machine. " I desire to 

Digitized by G* 

communicate with him immediately on a 
matter of the utmost importance— a purely 
personal matter." 

Mr. Meredith considered the matter at 
some length, and finally arrived at the con- 
clusion that he might ask. 

44 He is in South America at present — 
Buenos Ayres," he replied. 

44 What?" exclaimed the Thinking Machine, 
so suddenly that both Hatch and Mr. Mere- 
dith started a little. 44 What?" he repeated, 
and wrinkles suddenly appeared in the dome 
like brow. 

44 1 said he was in South America — Buenos 
Ayres," repeated Mr. Meredith, stiffly, but a 
little awed. 44 A letter or cable to him in 
care of the British Consul at Buenos Ayres 
will reach him promptly." 

The Thinking Machine's narrow eyes were 
screwed down to the disappearing point, 
the slender white fingers were twiddled 
jerkily, the corrugations remained in his 

44 How long has Mr. Meredith been there ? " 
he asked at last. 

44 Three months." 

44 Do you knmv he is there ? " 

Mr. Meredith started to say something, 
then swallowed it with an effort. 

44 1 know it positively, yes," he replied. 44 1 
received this letter, dated the second, from 
him three days ago, and to-day I received a 
cable despatch forwarded to me here from 

44 Are you positive the letter is in your 
son's handwriting ? " 

Mr. Meredith almost choked in mingled 
bewilderment and resentment at the question 
and the manner of its asking. 

44 1 am positive, yes," he replied, at last, 
preserving his tone of dignity with a per- 
ceptible effort. He noted the inscrutable 
face of his caller, and saw the corrugations 
in the brow suddenly swept away. 4< What 
business of yours is it, anyway ? " blazed Mr. 
Meredith, suddenly. 

44 May I ask where you were last Thursday 
night?" went on the even, steady voice. 

44 It's no business of yours," Mr. Meredith 
blurted. 44 1 was at Birmingham." 

44 Can you prove it in a court of law ? " 

44 Prove it ? Of course I can prove it ! " 
Mr. Meredith was fairly bellowing at his 
impassive interrogator. 

44 If you can prove it," Mr. Meredith," 
remarked the Thinking Machine, quietly, 
coldly, 4< you had best make your arrange- 
ments to do so ; because, believe me, it may 
be necessary to save you from a charge 





of having stolen the Randolph gold plate 
last Thursday night at the masked ball. 
Good day, sir." 


M But Mr. Herbert won't see anyone, sir," 
protested Blair. 

"Tell Mr. Herbert, please, that unless I 
can see him immediately his bail will be 
withdrawn/ 3 directed the Thinking Machine. 

He stood waiting in the hall while Blair 
went up the stairs Dick Herbert took the 
card impatiently and glanced at it 

"Van Dusen/' he mused. "Who the 
deuce is Van Dusen?" 

Blair repeated the message he had received 

"Let him come up," instructed Dick. 

Thus, within an hour after he had talked 
to Mr Meredith, the Thinking Machine 



met Dick Her 

" What's this 
about the bail?" 
Dick inquired. 

" I wanted to 
talk to you," was 
the scientist's 
calm reply. 
"That seemed to 
be the easiest 
way to make you 
believe it was in> 

portant, su " 

Dick's face 
flushed crimson 
at the trick. 

" Well, you see 
me/' he broke 
out, angrily. t£ I 
ought to throw 
you down the 
stairs, but — what 
is it ? " 

Not having 
been invited to 
a seat, the Think- 
ing Machine 
took one and 
settled himself 

" If you will 
listen to me for 
a moment with- 
out interrup- 
tion/' he began, testily, "I think 
the subject of my remarks will be 
of deep personal concern to you. 
I am interested in solving this 
Randolph plate affair, and have perhaps 
gone farther in my investigation than any- 
one else. At least I know more about 
it, There are some things I don't happen 
to know, however, that are of the greatest 

" I tell you " stormed Dick + 

" For instance, w calmly resumed the scien- 
tist, "it is very important for me to know 
whether or not Harry Meredith was masked 
when he came into this room last Thursday 

Dick gazed at him in surprise which 
approached awe. Anger had gone from his 
manner ; instead there was a pallor of appre- 
hension in the clean-cut face, 

" Who are you, Mr. Van Dusen ?" he 
asked, at last. His tone was mild, deferential 

" Was he masked ? " insisted the scientist 

Original from 




For a long while Dick was silent. Finally 
he arose and paced nervously backwards and 
forwards across the room, glancing at the 
diminutive figure of the Thinking Machine 
each time as he turned. 

" I won't say anything," he decided. 

" Will you name the cause of the trouble 
you and Meredith had at Oxford?" asked 
the scientist. 

Again there was a long pause. 

" No," Dick said, finally. 

" Had it anything to do with theft ?" 

" I don't know who you are or why you 
are prying into an affair that at least on its 
face does not concern you," replied Dick. 
" I'll say nothing at all — unless — unless you 
produce the one man who can and shall 
explain this affair. Produce him here in 
this room where I can get my hands on 

The Thinking Machine squinted at the 
sturdy shoulders with admiration in his face. 

"Did it ever happen to occur to you, 
Mr. Herbert, that Harry Meredith and his 
father are precisely of the same build ? " 

Some nameless, impalpable expression crept 
into Dick's face, despite an apparent fight to 
restrain it, and again he stared at the small 
man in the chair. 

"And that you and Mr. Meredith are 
practically of the same build ? " 

Tormented by unasked questions and by 
those emotions which had compelled him 
to silence all along, Dick still paced back- 
wards and forwards. His head was whirling. 
Suddenly he stopped and turned upon tha 
Thinking Machine. 

" Just what do you know of this affair ? " 
he asked. 

" I know for one thing," replied the scien- 
tist, positively, "that you were not the man in 
the motor-car." 

" How do you know that ? " 

" I can only answer that question when 
you have answered mine," the scientist went 
on. " Was Harry Meredith masked when 
he entered this room last Thursday night ? " 

Dick sat staring down at his hands, which 
were working nervously. Finally he nodded. 
The Thinking Machine understood. 

" You recognised him, then, by something 
he said or wore ? " 

Again Dick nodded, reluctantly. " Both," 
he added. 

The Thinking Machine leaned back in 
his chair and sat there for a long time. At 
last he arose, as if the interview were ended. 

" You need not be unnecessarily alarmed, 
Mr. Herbert," he assured Dick as he picked 

Vpl. xxxv.— 18, 

up his hat. " I shall act with discretion in 
this matter. I am not representing anyone 
who would care to make it unpleasant for 
you. I may tell you that you made two 
serious mistakes : the first, when you saw or 
communicated with Mr. Randolph imme- 
diately after the plate was stolen the second 
time, and again when you undertook some- 
thing which properly belonged to the province 
of the police." 

Herbert still sat with his head in his hands 
as the Thinking Machine went out. 

It was very late that night — after twelve, in 
fact — when Hutchinson Hatch called on the 
Thinking Machine, with excitement evident 
in tone, manner, and act. He found the 
scientist at work as if it were midday. 

"The worst has happened," the reporter 
told him. 

The Thinking Machine did not look round. 

"Detective Mallory and two of his men 
saw Miss Meredith this evening about nine 
o'clock," Hatch hurried on, "and frightened 
her into a confession." 

" What sort of a confession ? " 

" She admitted that she was in the car on 
the night of the ball, and that " 

" Mr. Herbert was with her ? " the scientist 

" Yes." 

" And— what else ? " 

"That her own jewels, valued at four 
thousand pounds, were among those found 
in Herbert's possession when he was arrested." 

The Thinking Machine turned and looked 
at the reporter just casually, and raised his 
hand to his mouth to cover a gape. 

" Well, she couldn't do anything else," he 
said, calmly. 


Hutchinson Hatch remained with the 
Thinking Machine for more than an hour, 
and when he left his head was spinning with 
the multitude of instructions which had been 
heaped upon him. 

" Meet me at noon in Detective Mallory's 
office at police head-quarters," the Thinking 
Machine had said, in conclusion. "Mr. 
Randolph and Miss Meredith will be there." 

"Miss Meredith?" Hatch repeated. "She 
hasn't been arrested, you know, and I doubt 
if she will come." 

" She will come," the scientist had replied, 
as if that settled it. 

Next day the Supreme Intelligence was 
sitting in his private office. Mingled triumph 
and gratification beamed upon his counte- 
nance. The smile remained, but to it was 




added the quality of curiosity when the door 
opened and the Thinking Machine, accom- 
panied by, Dollie Meredith and Steven 
Randolph, entered. 

M Mr. Hatch called yet ? " inquired the 

His answer was the clattering rush of a 
cab and the appearance of Hatch in person 
a moment later. He came into the room 
headlong, glanced around, then paused, 

11 Did you get it? " inquired the Thinking 

"Yes, I got it t but " began the reporter, 

( * Nothing else now/' commanded the 

" I would like to ask, Mr. Mallory," the 
scientist said, " if it would be possible for me 
to convince yoii of Mr. Herbert's 
innocence of the charges against 

1( It would not/' replied the de- 
tective, promptly. 
is It would not 
while the facts are 
before me, supple 
mented by the 
statement of Miss 
Meredith here — 
her confess ion." 

I >ollie coloured 
exquisitely, and 
her lips trembled 

"Would it be 
possible, M iss 
Meredith/' the 
even voice went 
on, " to convince 
you of Mr. Her- 
berfs inno- 

; - I — I don't 
think so/' she 
faltered. " I — 1 

Tears that had 
been restrained 
with difficulty 
gushed forth sud- 
denly, and the 
Thinking Machine 
squinted at her in 
pained surprise. 

"Don't do that/' 
he commanded. 
It's — ^t*s exceed- 
ingly irritating/' 
He paused a 
moment, then 

turned suddenly to Mr. Randolph. "And 
you ? " he asked. 

Mr. Randolph shrugged his shoulders for 

The Thinking Machine receded still 
farther into his chair, and stared dreamily 
upward, with his long, slender fingers pressed 
tip to tip. 

"Suppose," the scientist began, "just 
suppose that we turn a little intelligence on 
this problem for a change, and see if we 
can't get the truth out of the blundering 
muddle that the police have helped to bring 
about Let's use logic, inevitable logic, to 
show, simply enough, that instead of being 
guilty Mr. Herbert is absolutely innocent" 
Dollie Meredith suddenly leaned forward 

in her chair 
with flushed 
face, eyes 
widely opened, 
and lips 
slightly parted 


INNOCENCE?"-. - £ 

Original from 

by Google 




Mallory also leaned forward in his chair, but 
there was a different expression on his face. 

" Miss Meredith, we know you were in the 
motor-car with the Burglar who stole the 
plate," the Thinking Machine went on. 
" You probably knew that he was wounded, 
and possibly either aided in dressing the 
wound — as any woman would —or else saw 
him dress it himself." 

"I bound my handkerchief on it," replied 
the Girl. 

" Where was the wound ? " 

" In the right shoulder," she replied. 

" Back or front ? " insisted the scientist. 

" Back," she replied. " Very near the arm, 
an inch or so below the level of the shoulder." 

Except for the Thinking Machine himself, 
Hatch was the only person in the room to 
whom this statement meant anything, and he 
restrained a shout with difficulty. 

'* Now, Mr. Mallory," the scientist went 
on, calmly, "do you happen to know Dr. 
Clarence Walpole ? " 

" I know of him, yes," replied the detective. 
" He is a man of considerable reputation." 

" Would you believe him under oath ? " 

" Why, certainly, of course." 

" If Dr. Walpole should dress a wound, 
and should later, under oath, point out its 
exact location, you would believe him ? " 

" Why, I should have to, of course." 

"Very well," commented the Thinking 
Machine, tersely. "Now I will state an in- 
controvertible scientific fact for your further 
enlightenment. You may verify it any way 
you choose. This is, briefly, that the blood 
corpuscles in man average one-thirty-three- 
hundredth of an inch in diameter. Remem- 
ber that, please : one-thirty-three-hundredth 
of an inch. The system of measurement has 
reached a state of perfection almost incom- 
prehensible to the man who does not 

He paused for so long that Detective 
Mallory began to wriggle. 

"Now, Mr. Mallory," continued the 
Thinking Machine, at last, "one of your men 
shot twice at the Burglar in the car, as I 
understand it ? " 

" Yes ; Detective Cunningham." 

"Is he here now?" 

The detective pressed a button on his desk, 
and a uniformed man appeared. Instructions 
were given, and a moment later Detective 
Cunningham stood before them wonderingly. 

"I suppose you can prove beyond any 
question of a doubt," resumed the scientist, 
still addressing Mr. Mallory, " that two shots 
— and only two — were fired ? " 

by Google 

" I can prove it by twenty witnesses ! " was 
the reply. 

" Good, very good," exclaimed the scientist, 
and he turned to Cunningham. 

" May I see your revolver ? " 

Cunningham produced the weapon and 
handed it over. The Thinking Machine 
merely glanced at it. 

" This is the revolver you used ? " 

" Yes." 

" Very well, then," remarked the scientist, 
quietly ; " on that statement alone Mr. 
Herbert is proved innocent of the charge 
against him." 

There was an astonished gasp all round. 
Hatch was beginning to see what the 
Thinking Machine meant, and curiously 
watched the bewitching face of Dollie 

" Proved innocent ! " snorted Detective 
Mallory. " Why, you've convicted him out 
of hand, so far as I can see." 

" Corpuscles in human blood average, as 
I said, one-thirty-three-hundredth of an 
inch in diameter," resumed the scientist. 
"They vary slightly each way, of course. 
Now, the corpuscles of the Burglar in the 
car measured just one-three- thousand-one- 
hundred-and-forty-seventh of an inch. Mr. 
Herbert's corpuscles, tested the same way 
with the same instruments, measure precisely 
He stopped as if that were conclusive. 

" By George ! " exclaimed Mr. Randolph. 
"By George!" 

" That's all tommy-rot," Detective Mallory 
burst out. " That's nothing to a jury or to 
any other man with common sense." 

"That difference in measurement proves 
beyond question that Mr. Herbert was not 
wounded while in the car," went on the 
Thinking Machine, as if there had been no 
interruption. "Now, Mr. Cunningham, may 
I ask if the Burglar's back was toward you 
when you fired ? " 

" Yes, I suppose so. He was going away 
from me." 

" Well, that statement agrees with the 
statement of Miss Meredith to show that 
the Burglar was wounded in the back. Dr. 
Walpole dressed Mr. Herbert's wound be- 
tween two and three o'clock on the Friday 
morning following the masked ball. Mr. 
Herbert had been shot, but the wound was 
in the front of his right shoulder." 

Delighted amazement radiated from Dollie 
Meredith's face, and she clapped her hands 
involuntarily, as she would have applauded 
a stage incident, petective Mallory started 




to say something, then thought better of it, 
and glared at Cunningham instead. 

"Now, Mr. Cunningham says that he 
shot the Burglar with this revolver," and the 
Thinking Machine waved the weapon under 
Detective Mallory 's nose. "Its calibre is 
thirty-eight Mr. Herbert was shot with a 
thirty-two calibre. Here is the bullet," and 
he tossed it on the desk. 


Strange emotions, all tangled up with turbu- 
lent impressions, scrambled through Dollie 
Meredith's pretty head in great disorder. 
She did not know whether to laugh or cry. 
Finally she compromised by blushing radi- 
antly at the memory of certain lingering 
kisses she had bestowed upon — upon — Dick 
Herbert ? No, it wasn't Dick Herbert. Oh, 
dear ! 

Detective Mallory pounced upon the bullet 
as a hound upon a hare, and turned and 
twisted it in his hands. Cunningham leaned 
over his shoulder, then drew a cartridge from 
the revolver and compared it, as to size, with 
the bullet. Hatch and Mr. Randolph, look- 
ing on, saw him shake his head. The ball 
-was too small for the revolver. 

The Supreme Intelligence turned suddenly, 
fiercely upon Dollie, and thrust an accusing 
finger into her startled face. 

"Mr. Herbert confessed to you that he 
was with you in the car, didn't he ? " 

"Y-yes," she faltered. 

" You know he was with you ? " 

" I thought I knew it." 

" You wouldn't have gone with any other 

"Certainly not!" and a blaze of indignation 
suffused her cheeks. 

" Your casket of jewels was found among 
the stolen goods in his possession ? " 

"Yes, but " 

With a wave of his hand the Supreme 
Intelligence stopped explanations and turned 
to glare at the Thinking Machine. That 
imperturbable gentleman did not alter his 
position in the slightest, nor did he change 
the steady upward squint of his eyes. 

" If you have quite finished, Mr. Mallory," 
he said, after a moment, " I will explain how 
and under what circumstances the stolen 
plate and jewels came into Mr. Herbert's 

" Go on," urged Mr. Randolph and Hatch 
in a breath. 

" When the simplest rules of logic establish 
a fact it becomes incontrovertible," resumed 
the scientist " I have shown that Mr. 

by L^OOgle 

Herbert was not the man in the car — the 
Burglar. Now, what did happen to Mr. 
Herbert? Twice since his arrest he has 
stated that it would be useless for him to 
explain, because no one would believe it ; 
and no one would have believed it unsup- 
ported — least of all you, Mr. Mallory. 

" It's an admitted fact that Miss Meredith 
and Mr. Herbert had planned to elope from 
Seven Oaks on the night of the ball. I dare 
say that Mr. Herbert did not deem it wise 
for Miss Meredith to know his costume, 
while he must of necessity have known hers. 
Therefore, the plan was for him to recognise 
her, but as it developed she recognised him 
—or thought she did — and that was the 
real cause of this remarkable muddle." He 
glanced at Dollie. " Is that correct ? " 

Dollie nodded blushingly. 

" Now, Mr. Herbert did not go to the ball 
— why not, I will explain later ; therefore 
Miss Meredith recognised the real Burglar as 
Mr. Herbert ; and we know how they ran 
away together after the Burglar had stolen 
the plate and various articles of jewellery. 
We must credit the Burglar with remarkable 
intelligence ; therefore, when a young and 
attractive woman — I may say a beautiful 
woman — spoke to him as someone else, he 
immediately saw an advantage in it. There 
is always, too, the possibility that he knew he 
was mistaken for Mr. Herbert." 

Dollie was beginning to see, too. 

" We know the method of escape, the pur- 
suit, and all that, therefore we jump to the 
return of the gold plate. Logic makes it 
instantly apparent that that was the work of 
Miss Meredith here. Not having the plate, 
Mr. Herbert did- not send it back, of course j 
and the Burglar would not have sent it back. 
Realizing too late that the man she was with 
was really a thief — and still believing him, 
perhaps, to be Mr. Herbert — she must have 
taken the plate and escaped under cover of 
darkness ? " 

The tone carried a question, and the 
Thinking Machine turned squint ingly upon 

Again she nodded. She was enthralled, 
fascinated by the recital. 

" It was a simple matter for her to return 
the gold plate, taking advantage of an 
unoccupied house and the willingness of a 
stranger to telephone for a carrier's cart. 
Thus we have the plate again at Seven Oaks, 
and we have it there by the only method it 
could have been returned there when we 
account for and consider every known fact." 

The Thinking Machine paused and sat 

■_i 1 1 1 ti i 1 1 -' 




silently staring upward. His listeners waited 

"Now, why did Mr. Herbert confess to 
Miss Meredith that he stole the plate ? " asked 
the scientist, as if of himself. "Perhaps she 
forced him to it. Mr. Herbert is a young 
man of strong loyalty and a grim sense of 
humour, this latter being something the police 
are not acquainted with. However, Mr. 
Herbert did confess to Miss Meredith that 
he was the Burglar, but he made this confes- 
sion obviously because she would believe 
nothing else, and when a seeming necessity 
of protecting the real Burglar was still upper- 
most in his mind. What he wanted was the 
Girl. If the facts never came out he was all 
right ; if they did come out they would 
implicate one whom he was protecting, but 
through no fault of his ; therefore he was still 
all right." 

" Bah ! " exclaimed the Supreme In- 
telligence. " My experience has shown 
that a man doesn't confess to a theft 
unless " 

"So we may safely assume," the Thinking 
Machine continued, almost pleasantly, " that 
Mr. Herbert, by confessing the theft as a 
prank, perhaps, won back Miss Meredith's 
confidence ; that they planned an elopement 
for the second time. A conversation Mr. 
Hatch had with Mr. Herbert immediately 
after Mr. Herbert saw Miss Meredith practi- 
cally confirms it. Then, with matters in this 
shape, the real Burglar, to whom I have 
accredited unusual powers, stole the plate the 
second time — we know how." 

" Herbert stole it, you mean ! " blazed 
Detective Mallory. 

"This theft came immediately on top of 
the reconciliation of Miss Meredith and Mr. 
Herbert," the Thinking Machine went on 
steadily, without heeding the remark by the 
slightest sign ; " therefore it was only natural 
that he should be the person most vitally 
interested in seeing that the plate was again 
returned. He undertook to do this himself. 
The result was that where the police had 
failed he found the plate and a lot of jewels, 
took them from the Burglar, and was about 
to return Mr. Randolph's property when the 
detectives walked in on him. That is why 
he laughed." 

Detective Mallory arose from his seat and 
started to say something impolite. 

" Who, then," he demanded, after a couple 
of gulps, " who do you say is the thief if 
Herbert is not? " 

The Thinking Machine glanced up into 
his face, then turned to Hatch, 

by L^OOgle 

" Mr. Hatch, what is that name I asked 
you to get ? " 

11 George Francis Hayden," was the stam- 
mering reply ; " but — but " 

"Then George Francis Hayden is the 
thief," declared the Thinking Machine, 

" But I— I started to say," Hatch blurted 
out, "I started to say that George Francis 
Hayden has been dead for two years." 

The Thinking Machine arose suddenly and 
glared at the reporter. There was a tense 
silence, broken at last by a chuckle from 
Detective Mallory. 

" Dead ? " repeated the scientist, incredu- 
lously. " Do you know that ? " 

" Yes ; I— I know it." 

The Thinking Machine stood for another 
moment squinting at him, then, turning, left 
the room. 


Half an hour later the Thinking Machine 
walked in, unannounced, upon Dick Herbert. 

" Mr. Herbert," the scientist began, " I 
have gone out of my way to prove to the 
police that you were not in the car with 
Miss Meredith, and that you did not steal 
the gold plate found in your possession. 
Now, I happen to know the name of the 
thief, and " 

"And if you mention it to one living soul," 
Dick added, suddenly, hotly, " I shall forget 
myself, and— and " 

" His name is George Francis Hayden," 
the scientist continued. 

Dick started a little and straightened up ; 
the menace dropped from him, and he paused 
to gaze curiously into the wizened face before 

After a moment he drew a sigh of deep 

" I know that that isn't the man you 
thought it was," resumed the other, " but the 
fact remains that Hayden is the man with 
whom Miss Meredith unwittingly eloped, and 
that Hayden is the man who actually stole 
the plate and jewels. Further, the fact 
remains that Hayden " 

" Is dead," Dick supplemented, grimly. 
" You are talking without any knowledge of 
what you are saying." 

" He can't be dead," remarked the scientist, 

" But he is dead," Dick insisted. 

" He can't be dead," snapped the other, 
abruptly. " It's perfectly stupid to suppose 
such a thing. Why, I have proved abso- 
lutely by the simplest rules of logic that he 





stole the gold plate ; therufore he cannot be 
dead. It's foolish to say so." 

Dick was not quite certain whether to be 
angry or amused. 

11 How long has he been dead ? w continued 
the scientist, 

" About two years," 

" You kfww it ? " 

" Yes, I know it," 

" How do you know it ? " 

" Because I attended his funeral/' was the 
prompt reply. 

Dick saw a shadow of impatience flash 
into his visitor's face and instantly pass, 

" How did he die?" queried the scientist. 

"He was lost from his cat-boat," Dick 
answered. "He had gone out sailing alone, 
while in a bathing suit. Several hours after 
the boat drifted in on the tide without him. 

by Google 

It was two or three weeks before the body 
was recovered." 

"Ah !" exclaimed the Thinking Machine. 

Then for half an hour or so he talked, 
and as he went on incisively, pointedly, 
dramatically even at times, Dick Herbert's 
eyes opened wider and wider. At the end he 
rose and gripped the scientist's slender white 
fingers heartily in his own with something 
approaching awe in his manner. Finally he 
put on his hat, and they went out together 

That evening, at eight o'clock, Detective 
Mai lory, Hutchinson Hatch, Mr. Randolph, 
Mr. Meredith, Mr. Grey ton, and Dollie 
Meredith gathered in a parlour of the 
Grey tons' house by request of the Thinking 

Finally there came a tinkle at the bell, and 
the Thinking Machine entered Behind him 
Original from 




came Dick Herbert, Dr. Clarence Walpole, 
and a stranger. Mr. Meredith glanced up 
quickly at Herbert, and Dollie lifted her chin 
haughtily, with a stony stare which admitted 
of no compromise. Dick pleaded recognition 
with his eyes, but it was no use, so he sat 
down where he could watch her unobserved. 

The Thinking Machine sat down, stretched 
out his slender legs, turned his eyes upward, 
and adjusted his fingers precisely, tip to tip. 

" We shall have to go back a few years to 
get the real beginning of the events which 
have culminated so strangely within the past 
week," he said. " This was a close friend- 
ship of three young men in college. They 
were Mr. Herbert here, Harry Meredith, and 
George Francis Hayden. This friendship, 
not an unusual one in college, was made 
somewhat romantic by the young men calling 
themselves the Triangle. They occupied the 
same apartments, and were exclusive to a 
degree. Of necessity Mr. Herbert was drawn 
from that exclusiveness to a certain extent 
by his participation in football." 

A germ of memory was working in Hatch's 

" At someone's suggestion three triangular 
watch-charms were made, identical in every 
way save for initials on the back. They bore 
a symbol which was meaningless, except to 
the Triangle. They were made to order, and 
are therefore the only three of the kind in 
the world. Mr. Herbert has one now on his 
watch-chain, with his own initials ; there is 
another with the initials * G. F. H.' in the lot 
of jewellery Mr. Mallory recovered from Mr. 
Herbert. The third is worn by Harry 
Meredith, who is now in Buenos Ayres. The 
British Consul there has confirmed by cable 
that fact. 

"In their last year the three young men 
of the Triangle were concerned in the 
mysterious disappearance of a valuable 
diamond ring. It was hushed up in college 
after it seemed established that Mr. Herbert 
here was a thief. Knowing his own inno- 
cence, and seeing what seemed to be an 
exclusive opportunity for Harry Meredith to 
have done what was charged, Mr. Herbert 
laid the matter to him, having at that time 
an interview with Mr. Meredith here. The 
result of that interview was more than ever 
to convince Mr. Meredith of Mr. Herbert's 
guilt. As a matter of fact, the thief in that 
case was George Francis Hayden." 

There were little murmurs of astonishment, 
and Mr. Meredith turned and stared at Dick 
Herbert. Dollie gave him a little glance out 
of a corner of her eye and smiled. 

Digitized by dOOgle 

"This ended the Triangle," resumed the 
scientist. " A year or so later Mr. Herbert 
met Miss Meredith. About two years ago 
George Francis Hayden was reported 
drowned from his boat. This was confirmed 
apparently by the finding of his body, and 
an insurance company paid over a large 
sum, I think five thousand pounds, to a 
woman who claimed to be his wife. But 
George Francis Hayden was not drowned ; 
he is alive now. It was a carefully-planned 
fraud against the insurance company, and it 

"This, then, was the situation on last 
Thursday, the night of the masked ball at 
Seven Oaks, except that there had grown up 
a love affair between Miss Meredith and Mr. 
Herbert. Naturally the father opposed this 
because of the incident at college. Both 
Miss Meredith and Mr. Herbert had invita- 
tions to that ball. It was an opportunity for 
an elopement, and they accepted it Mr. 
Herbert sent word to her what costume to 
wear ; she did not know the nature of his. 

" On Thursday afternoon Miss Meredith 
sent her jewel casket, with practically all her 
jewels, to Mr. Herbert 

" At this point Fate, in the guise of a 
masked Burglar, saw fit to step into the 
affair," the scientist went on, after a moment 
"About nine-thirty on Thursday evening, 
while Mr. Herbert was alone, the masked 
Burglar, George Francis Hayden, entered Mr. 
Herbert's house, possibly thinking everyone 
was away. There, still masked, he met Mr. 
Herbert, who recognised him by something 
he said and by the triangular charm he wore, 
as Harry Meredith. Remember, he thought 
he knew George Francis Hayden was dead. 

" There were some words and a personal 
encounter between the two men. George 
Francis Hayden fired a shot which struck 
Mr. Herbert in the right shoulder — in front — 
took the jewel casket, in which Mr. Herbert 
had placed his card of invitation to the ball, 
and went away, leaving Mr. Herbert senseless 
on the floor." 

Dollie's face blanched suddenly, and she 
gasped. When she glanced involuntarily at 
Dick she read the love-light in his eyes, and 
her colour returned with a rush. 

" Several hours later, when Mr. Herbert 
recovered consciousness," the unruffled voice 
continued, " he went to Dr. Walpole, the 
nearest physician, and there the bullet was 
extracted and the wound dressed. The ball 
% was thirty-two calibre ? " 

Dr. Walpole nodded. 

" And Mr. Cunningham's revolver carried 


i3 6 


a thirty-eight," added the scientist "Now 
we go back to the Burglar. He found 
the invitation in the casket, and the bold 
scheme which later he carried out so per- 
fectly came to him as an inspiration. He 
went to the ball just as he was. Nerve, 
self-possession, and humour took him 

" Naturally, under all the circumstances, 
Mr Herbert, believing that Harry Meredith 
was the thief, would say nothing to bring 
disgrace upon the name of the girl he loved, 
Instead he saw Miss Meredith, who would 
not accept his denial then, and in order to 
get her first— explanations might come later 
— he confessed to the theft, whereupon they 
planned the second elopement 

" When Miss Meredith returned the plate 
there was no anticipation of a second theft. 
Here is where we get a better understanding 
of the mettle of the real Burglar — George 
Francis Hay den. He went back and got 
the plate from Seven Oaks. Instantly that 
upset the second elopement plan. Then 
Mr, Herbert undertook the search, got a clue, 

followed it, and recovered not only the plate, 
but a great lot of jewels/' 

There was a pause, A sky-rocket ascended 
in Hatch's mind and burst, illuminating the 
whole tangled story. Detective Mallory 
sat dumbly, thinking profane words. Mr. 
Meredith arose, went over to Dick Herbert, 
and solemnly shook his hand, after which he 
sat down again. Dollie smiled charmingly. 


" Now that is what actually happened," said 
the Thinking Machine after a little while, 
"First in this case I had Mr. Hatch's detailed 
examination of each circumstance. By an 
inspiration he connected Mr. Herbert and 
Miss Meredith with the affair, and talked to 
both before the police had any knowledge at 
all of them. In other wordsj he reached at a 
bound what they took days to accomplish. 
After the second theft he came to me and 
related the story." 

The reporter blushed modestly, 
" Mr. Hatch's belief that the things that 
had happened to Mr. Herbert and Miss 

Meredith bore on 
the theft," re- 
sumed the 
scientist, "was 
susceptible of con- 
firmation or re- 
futation in only 
one way, this 
being so because 
of Mr, Herbert's 
silence — due to 
his loyalty. I saw 
that. But before 
I went farther I 
saw clearly what 
had actually hap- 
pened if I pre- 
supposed that 
there hnd been 
some connection* 
Thus came to me, 
I may say here, 
the almost certain 
knowledge that 
Miss Meredith 
had a brother, 
although I had 
never heard of 
him or her," 

" Suppose you 
give us just your 
line of reason- 
ing," ventured 





" Well, I began with the bloodstains in 
the motor-car, to either bring Mr. Herbert 
into this affair or shut him out," replied 
the scientist " You know how I made the 
blood tests. They showed conclusively that 
the blood on the cushion was not Mr. 
Herbert's. Remember, please, that while I 
knew Miss Meredith had been in the car, I 
also knew she was not wounded. 

" Now, I knew Mr. Herbert had been 
wounded — he wouldn't say how. If at home, 
would he not go to the nearest physician ? 
Probably. I got Dr. Walpole's name from 
the telephone book — he being nearest the 
Herbert home — and sent Mr. Hatch there, 
where he learned of the wound in front and 
of the thirty-two calibre ball. I already knew 
the police revolvers were thirty eight calibre; 
therefore Mr. Herbert was not wounded while 
in the car. 

"That removed Mr. Herbert as a possi- 
bility in the first theft, despite the fact that 
his invitation card was presented at the door. 
It was reasonable to suppose that invitation 
had been stolen. Immediately after the 
plate was returned Mr. Herbert effected a 
reconciliation with Miss Meredith. Because 
of this and for other reasons I could not 
bring myself to see that he was a party to the 
second theft, as I knew him to be innocent 
of the first. Yet, what happened to him ? 
Why wouldn't he say something ? 

" In this instance I could only imagine why 
Mr. Herbert was silent. Remember, he was 
shot, and wouldn't say who did it. Why? 
If it had been an ordinary thief — and I got 
the idea of a thief from the invitation card 
being in other hands than his — he would not 
have hesitated to talk. Therefore it was an 
extraordinary thief, in that it connected with 
something near and dear to him. No one 
was nearer and dearer to him than Miss 
Meredith. Did she shoot him ? No. Did 
her father shoot him ? Probably not, but 
possibly. A brother? That began to look 
more reasonable. 

" For the moment I assumed a brother, 
not knowing. How did Mr. Herbert know 
this brother ? Was it in his college days ? 
Mr. Hatch brought me a list of the students 
of three years before his graduating year, and 
there I found the name Harry Meredith. You 
see, step by step pure logic was leading me 
to something tangible, definite. My next 
act was to see Mr. Meredith and ask for the 
address of his son — the only son — whom at 
that time I frankly believed was the real 
thief. But this son was in South America. 
That startled me a little, and brought me up 


against the father as a possible thief. He 
was in Birmingham on that night. 

" Then the question : Was the man who 
stole from Mr. Herbert, probably entering 
his place and shooting him, masked ? Mr. 
Herbert said he was. I framed the question 
so as to bring Harry Meredith's name into it, 
much to Mr. Herbert's alarm. How had he 
recognised him as Harry Meredith ? By 
something he said or wore? Mr. Herbert 
replied in the affirmative — both. Therefore, 
I had a masked Burglar who could not have 
been either Harry Meredith or Mr. Meredith 
here. Who was he ? 

" I decided to let Mr. Hatch look into 
that point for me, and went to see Dr. 
Walpole. He gave me the bullet he had 
extracted from Mr. Herbert's shoulder. Mr. 
Hatch shortly after rushed in on me with the 
statement that Miss Meredith had admitted 
that Mr. Herbert had confessed to hen I 
could see instantly why he had confessed to 
her. Then Mr. Hatch undertook for me 
the investigation of Herbert's and Harry 
Meredith's career in college. He remem- 
bered part of it, and unearthed the affair of 
the Triangle and the theft of a diamond ring. 

u I had asked Mr, Hatch to find for me if 
Harry Meredith and Mr. Herbert had had 
a mutual intimate in college. They had : 
George Francis Hayden, the third member 
of the Triangle. Then the question seemed 
solved, but Mr. Hatch upset everything 
when he said Mr. Hayden was dead. I went 
immediately to see Mr. Herbert. From him 
I learned that, while Mr. Hayden was supposed 
to be dead and buried, there was no positive 
proof of it ; the body recovered had been in 
the water three weeks, and was consequently 
almost unrecognisable. Therefore the theft 
came inevitably to Mr. Hayden. Why ? 
Because the Burglar had been recognised by 
something he said and wore. It would have 
been difficult for Mr. Herbert to recognise 
a masked man so positively unless the masked 
man wore something he* absolutely knew or 
said something he ab$61utely knew. Mr. 
Herbert thought with reason that the masked 
man was Harry Meredith, but with Harry 
Meredith in South America the thief was 
incontrovertibly George Francis Hayden. 

44 After a short interview as to Hayden, 
during which Mr. Herbert told me more of 
the Triangle and the three watch-charms, he 
and I went out investigating. He took me 
to the room where he had found the plate 
and jewels — a place in a boarding-house 
which this gentleman manages." The scientist 
turned to the stranger, who had been a silent 


r 3 8 


listener- " He identified an old photograph 
of George Francis Hayden as an occupant of 
an apartment 

" Mr. Herbert and I searched the place. 
My growing idea, bastxi on the established 
knavery of George Francis Hayden,.* that he 
was the real thief in the college incident, was 
proved when I found this ring there— the 
ring that was stolen at that time — with the 
initials of the owner in it." 

The Thinking Machine produced the ring 
and offered it to Detective Mallory, who had 
allowed the earth to slip away from him 
slowly but surely, 

"Mr. Herbert and I learned of the insu 
ranee fraud in another manner- -that is, when 
we knew that George Francis Hayden was 
not dead we knew there had been a fraud, 
Mr. Hayden has been known lately as 
Chester Goodrich. He has been missing 
since Mr* Herbert, in his absence, recovered 
the plate and the jewels in his apartments," 

The Thinking Machine glanced at Mr, 
Mai lory. 

"Your man— Downey, I think it was — did 
excellent work/'he 
said, " in tracing 
Miss Meredith 
from the time she 
left the car until 
she returned 
borne, and later 
leading you to 
Mr. Herbert It 
was not strange 
that you should 
have been con- 
vinced of his guilt 
when we consider 
the goods found 
in his possession 
and also the 
wound in his 

That was all. 
For a long time 
there was silence. 
Dollie Meredith's 
. pretty face was 
radiant, and her 
eyes were fastened 
on her father. Mr, 
Meredith glanced 
at her, cleared his 
throat, then 
arose and offered 
his hand to Dick 


by tj 




" I have done you an injustice, sir," he 
said, gravely. " Permit me to apologize. I 
think perhaps my daughter — — " 

That was superfluous. Dollie was already 
beside Dick, and a rousing, smacking, re- 
sounding kiss echoed her father's words 
Dick liked it and was ready for more, but 
Dollie impetuously flung her arms around the 
neck of the Thinking Machine. 

" You dear old thing I " she gurgled 
" You're just too sweet for anything*" 

" Dear me ! dear me ! " fussed the Think- 
ing Machine. "Don't do that. It annoys 
me exceedingly." 

Some three months later, when the search 
for George Francis Hayden had become only 
lukewarm, this being three days before Miss 
Meredith's wedding to Dick Herbert, she 
received a small box containing a solitaire 
ring and a note. It was brief:— 

In memory of one night in the woods and of what 
happened there, permit me to give l his. Von can't 
return it — and it is one of the few things honest 
money from me ever paid for. 

Bill the 


While Dollie 
examined the 
ring with mingled 
emotions Dick 
stared at the post- 
mark on the pack- 

"It's a rattling 
good clue ! " he 
said, enthusias- 

Do lire turned 
to him, recog- 
nisinga menace 
in the words, 
and took the 
paper which 
bore the post- 
mark from his 

"Let's pre- 
t e n d/ ? she 
said, gently; 
"lets pretend 
we don't know 
where it came 

Dick stared a 
little, and kissed 
Original from 


[I The Discovery of Pharaoh's Mummy, |j 

j| By DAVID M. BEDDOE. |f 

Illustrated p vm Photofniphs by Ptofitiot El i tot Smiths 


F the many kings who ruled 
in ancient Egypt, nut one has 
seized more on the popular 
imagination than he with 
whom Moses fought his long 
duel for the liberation of his 


Up to comparatively recent years even his 

identity was wrapped in obscurity, but latterly 

several facts have come to light which 

make it practically a certainty that he was 

Menephuhj son of the great Rameses* 
And now his 

mummy has 

been discovered 

ind unfolded, 

and the e>es of 

readers of these 

pages can rest on 

the very features 

on which the 

eyes of Moses 

looked three 

thousand years 

and more ago. 
The mummy 

was found in 

1898 by M . 

Loret, in the 

tomb of Amen- 

hotep II., at Bab 

el Mukuk, 

Thebes, and was 

brought to the 

Museum in Cairo 

in 1900, but it 

was not until 

last July that it 

was unwrapped. 

Elliot Smith, 

KR,S., writes : 

11 Even without the evidence of the writing 

on the shroud, many details of the process of 

mummification would have enabled us to put 

this mummy into the same group as those 

of Rameses II- and Siptah and Seti II-, and 

the physical characteristics of the mummy 
itself are such as to suggest a near affinity to 
Rameses IL and Seti L On these grounds 
there can be little doubt as to the correct- 
ness of the identification of this mummy as 

On July 8th, 1907, Professor Elliot Smith 
proceeded to unwrap the mummy in the 
presence of M. Maspero and a few others. 
On the table lay an oblong figure in brown 
linen ; no finer than many others, no pomp, no 
splendour about it to distinguish it from many 

anot her and 


A Photograph of the recently-discovered 

by L^OOgle 

humbler being, 
nothing save the 
brief writing in 
faded ink over 
the chest to tell 
that therein lay 
all that was left 
of Menephtah, 
King of Upper 
and Lo w er 
Egypt. Slowly 
and carefully the 
linen bandages 
were unwound 
— long, inter- 
minable wrap- 
pings, Then, as 
the chest came 
to view, someone 
exclaimed, "See I 
he has been 
plundered/ 1 and 
there, folded 
across the breast, 
were to be seen 
the long, lean 
arms and the half- 
clenched fists, 
now emptied 
of those golden sceptres of Royalty which 
ever accompanied the Kings of Egypt to the 
tomb ; yet, though some two thousand years 
had elapsed since the plunderers had de- 
spoiled hirq. of them, the long, lean fingers 
Original from 






were gripped together as if they still clutched 
those emblems of power that he knew so 
well how to wield. 

One could see that the pillage had been a 
hurried one, for the thieves, in their haste to 
rifle, had gashed into 
the forearms with the 
sharp instruments they 
had employed to cut 
through the under wrap- 
pings ; they had done 
their work thoroughly, 
however, for not a jewel, 
not a scarab was left— 
they had picked him 

As the deft hands 
continued their task one 
watched with an all- 
pervading curiosity for 
the countenance of 
Pharaoh to be laid bare. 
What manner of man 
was he ? What was he 

Little by little the 
head and face came to 
view, and soon they lay 
before us in all their 
nakedness upturned to 
the ceiling. 

There are many faces 
which accord hut ill with 
the character of the men 
as we know them ; not 
so Pharaoh. No ple- 
beian face his : the 
clean-shaven head in its 
long sweep, the high- 
arched nose, almost 
hawk-like in its lines, 
the long, lean jaw and 
thin - cut mouth, they 
were all there \ the eyes 
alone, which might in 
some passing gleam of 
kindliness have tem- 
pered that iron jaw and 
that stubborn mouth, 
were absent. Pharaoh, as hq is depicted in 
Exodus, lay on the table in the Cairo Museum ; 
the three thousand years had not softened him. 

One touch of human frailty he presented, 
for while the stubble lay rough to the fingers 
on his lips, the top of his head was smooth. 
Pharaoh was bald. To reconstruct his 
appearance during life would not be difficult 
from a consideration of his present condition 
and the results of anatomical examination. 

Digitized by OOk 

Pharaoh's Mummy in 

Fie was a clean-shaven, corpulent old man 
of somewhat below the average height, dark- 
complexioned and bald, save for a tonsure- 
like fringe of white hair; toothless, except 
for one somewhat prominent front tooth in 
the upper jaw, which 
but inadequately could 
have kept his somewhat 
hooked nose from con- 
tact with his chin. 

The actual cause of 
his death is now impos- 
sible to determine, but 
it is certain that his 
declining days were not 
spent in comfort ; the 
skin still hangs some* 
what loosely on hrs 
body, as though he had 
suffered from some wast- 
ing disease. His arteries 
are much degenerated, 
and his absence of teeth, 
apart from the pain of 
decay, must have pre- 
vented him from at least 
enjoying the pleasures 
of the table. 

Cicero might very well 
have pointed out the 
beauties of old age, but 
it would probably have 
taken more even than the 
great Roman's eloquence 
to have" convinced 
Men* >phtah of its charms* 
Such is the appearance 
of the great Tyrant, he 
who has been held up for 
countless generations to 
the obloquy of mankind 
as the Pharaoh of the 
Kxodus. What a drama 
the very words conjure 
up! We see the begin- 
nings in the jealousy of 
some Hebrew brothers 
who, under the father of 
this Pharaoh, sell another 
brother— Joseph — into slavery. We follow the 
varying fortunes of the latter on the banks of 
the Nile, his amazing rise to power, his bring- 
ing of his kindred to share in his good fortune, 
their prosperity and increase, followed after 
his death by their gradual fall into slavery 
when the Egyptians *' made their lives bitter 
with hard bondage in mortar and in brick, and 
in all manner of service in the field." We see 
the quick mofj^jq-^ilt-f^q^ployed by one of 





these Israelitish women to save her child — 
Moses — from the pi ti less order to slay, his 
discovery by the daughter of the King, his 
upbringing in the palace of Pharaoh him- 
self, his killing of an Egyptian whom he 
found maltreating one of his blood, his 
hurried flight from the country, and his 
return forty years later to wrest them, if 
possible, from the grip of a tyrant standing 
out against the aspirations of a people longing 
for freedom. 

We watch the 
long fight be- 
tween the patriot 
and the tyrant, 
the struggle ot 
the Sovereign, 
torn between 
superstitious fear 
and kingly pride, 
his promises and 
recantations, his 
final acquiesc- 
ence, closely fol- 
lowed again by 
repentance, the 
harried mobili- 
zation of his 
army, his dash 
after his retreat- 
ing bondsmen, 
and the final 
catastrophe in 
the waters of the 
Red Sea. It 
forms a story 
that even the 
romance - laden 
land of Egypt 
cannot surpass. 

The life -his- 
tory of Moses, 
the great patriot, 
is known to us 
most fully from 
the Old Testa- 
ment ; but of that of his great opponent, of 
Pharaoh himself, we learn little. His name, 
his age, his personal characteristics, are 
scarcely touched upon. Yet, if there is one 
of the great rulers of olden time that one 
longs to know more of than another, it is this 
King, whose order to make bricks without 
straw yet stands out as the acme of tyranny 
and senseless oppression. 

It is a most singular thing, considering 
how important the Israel it ish bondage in 
Egypt appears to have been, how little 
record there is of the Israelites in Egyptian 

Digitized by vjOO QIC 

chronicles, There is known at present but 
one record, and that of the briefest : it is on 
a stele described by Petrie in 1896 and 
found on the site of the Arnenophiura at 
Thebes f whereon Menephtah (Pharaoh), in 
his paean of victory, says that "The Israilu 
are destroyed and have no longer seed." 

Such alone is the contemporary reference 
to a series of incidents which for nearly four 
thousand years have moved the hearts of 

mankind. This 

A Portrait-Statue o| 

Egyptian capti- 
vity of an alien 
rare would long 
since have been 
forgotten had it 
not been that 
from that race 
s prang the 
foun der of 

Pharaoh was 
the thirteenth of 
the hundred and 
eleven sons born 
to the great 
Rameses ; his 
mother was I so- 
il of nt, sister of 
Rameses and 
daughter of Seti 
L It was pro- 
bably a sister of 
Menephtah who 
found Moses in 
the bulrushes* 
Her identity has, 
not been pre- 
served. One 
would have been 
glad to have 
known some- 
thing more of 
her, if only for 
that sweet com- 
passion which alone in the tragic description 
in the Exodus illumines with its womanliness 
the stern picture of the Egyptian character. 

Of Pharaoh's youth little is known. He 
was already a man of at least sixty years of age 
when he succeeded his father, and save for a 
small expedition into Syria the first few years 
of his reign passed tranquilly enough. He 
was not of an age to long for conquest, and 
his ambitions, if he had ever had any, had 
probably long since passed with his youth. 
That he did not carry out any very ambi- 
tious work, b'Jt was content with erecting the 


Pharaoh at Thebes. 



few monuments which remain as a record of 
his rejgn, was probably due to the fact that 
he realized that from his age he would never 
be able to complete such 
work, and that he would 
be but acting for the 
glorificat ion of his 

Of Pharaohs charac- 
ter we know little save 
what we can glean from 
side issues. That he 
was superstitious is very 
probable, but it was a 
failing that he shared 
with those of his time, 
Concerning the obsti- 
nacy that he displayed 
even in the face of the 
many wonders per- 
formed by Moscst it is 
very possible that there 
in lies a simple expla- 
nation. What position 
Moses exactly occupied 
at the Court of Pharaoh 
— whether it was a 
somewhat menial one, 
or as the pampered 
favourite of the Princess 
with all the attendant 
privileges — we do not 
know ; but it would be 
almost certain that he 
would have been well 
known to Pharaoh. 
Familiarity and rever- 
ence are naturally an- 
tagonistic* and we can 
imagine that, supersti- 
tious as Menephtah 
probably was, his in- 
credulity was not un- 
likely due to the fact 
that he had .known 
Moses of old. That the 
youth who hid pro- 
bably played with him 
on the banks of the 
Nile should return from 
goodness knows where, 
as the confidant of a 
God whom he had 
never heard of f and 
demand the liberation 
of 600,000 slaves, was a trifle too much even 
for Pharaoh, who needed more than one 
trick of legerdemain, as he considered it, to 
convince him. 


The Mummy of Pharaoh's Father. Ramem II. 
\ht Pharaoh of Joseph. 

by Google 

Of the cause of Pharaoh's death we have 
no record. That he met with the etid com* 
manly ascribed to him is almost certainly 
unfounded* There is 
no record of his having 
been drowned in the 
Red Sea, neither is 
there any account of 
any Pharaoh having 
met his death by such 
means ; and the fact 
that his mummy has 
now been found prac- 
tically puts such a 
theory out of court. 

Though it has long 
been accepted that the 
Pharaoh of the Exodus 
met his fate thus, the 
examination of Holy 
Writ does not expressly 
state it* In Exodus 
xiv, s 28, it says : " And 
the waters returned, and 
covered the chariots, 
and the horsemen, and 
all the host of Pharaoh 
that came into the sea 
after them ; there re- 
mained not so much 
as one of them." 

In Exodus xv. f 4, it 
relates how " Pharaoh's 
chariots and his host 
hath he cast into the 
sea; his chosen cap- 
tains also are drowned 
in the Red Sea," 

There is not a word 
of Pharaoh himself 
Had he too fallen a 
victim it is not likely 
that the Israelites would 
have forgotten to chro- 
nicle the fact. 

The Koran is, how- 
ever, much more ex- 
plicit. In the tenth 
chapter, that entitled 
"Jonas," it says : "And 
we caused the children 
of Israel to pass 
through the Red Sea, 
and Pharaoh and his 
army followed them 
in a violent and hostile manner until, when 
he was drowning, he said: *I believe that 
there is no God but He on whom the 
children of Israri believe,' " There is also a 




Moslem tradition to the effect that, some 
of the children of Israel doubting whether 
Pharaoh was really drowned, Gabriel, hy 
God's command, caused his body, still 
enclosed in his golden armour, to rise to 
the surface of the water so that all might 
see it But unless one grants the supposi- 
tion that his body was reclaimed and after- 
wards embalmed, the finding of the mummy 
disposes of the notion that Pharaoh was 

Three thousand years have elapsed since 
the embalmer worked with his cunning hands 
upon him. Memphis gone, Thebes and its 
glory have passed away, the tides of many 
conquests have swept over Egypt, but 
Pharaoh still remains waiting till the ever- 
lasting God shall call hirn, waiting until 

Thoth shall have weighed his heart against a 
feather in the stales and he shall again be 
one with Osiris ; and preserved by that 
wonderful art of the .craftsman he still waits, 
though the gods for whom he fought have 

Osiris, Horus, Ammon Ra, old familiar 
names in Egypt when those Hps had 
fashioned themselves to words, have long 
since ceased to concern mankind, and the 
peasant in the sun-swept fields at eventide 
prostrates himself before another deity, who 
if he Is anyone is the God of Isaac, of Jacob, 
and of Moses, 

Time brings many strange transformations, 
and not the least is that by which Menephtah 
has become less than a memory to his race, 
and Moses a prophet. 

A BiUle-Chariot such as was used by Pharaoh's Host when they were lost in the Red Sea. 

f^nrmfi* Original from 


Uhtsf rated with Photographs hy Gunn & NowcIl y Richmond^ Surrey* 

HERE was never a time* 
perhaps, in the history of the 
world when children were so 
much the fashion as they are 
now. Everyone loves, or pro- 
fesses to love, children, but 
generally with certain reservations expressed 
or implied. For our part, we are inclined to 
deny "the title of true child-lover to those who 
make distinctions of ages — those who, for 
instance, profess not to be able to understand, 
and to be rather frightened at, a real haby, 
while yet eagerly declaring their appreciation 
of the entertaining little toddlers who can 
talk. No j we would even go so far as to say 
that if your true child-lover has a preference 
for any age, it is for that perfectly helpless 
one of infancy. 

The notion that infants are all alike — that 
their undeveloped countenances are devoid 
of expression save the primary ones of grief 
or a stolid contentment— is one which dies 
hard, though the knowledge of how false it is 
is by no means confined to the mothers and 
nurses, w T ho may be regarded as undisputed 
experts. The true child- lover knows well 
how various are the expressions which the 
dawning intelligence, even of a very young 
infant — the first faint associations of ideas, 
the first tiny manifestations of love and grati- 
tude — can bring out upon its features. It 
must be admitted that the poets in all ages 
have shown greater appreciation of the more 
"grown- up 5J babies — the little creatures 
whose fascination and charm are obvious to 
every observer ; whereas properly to appre- 
ciate a bahy it is unquestionably necessary 
to know it very well — to be much with it at 
all hours of the day and night — for the real 
infant is apt to be suspicious of strangers, 
and often treats them to nothing but tears, 

Digitized by Google 

There can be no doubt— let it be said in 
all reverence — that Christianity almost from 
the very beginning profoundly affected the 
attitude of mankind towards infancy in 
general The little baby, the Christ-child in 
the manger at Bethlehem, whom the greatest 
artists in every age loved to paint, and who 
has been the object of the worship of count- 
less millions, gave to the infancy that was 
made after His image a new glory, a new 
dignity which before were lacking, liven in the 
Old Testament, which is so full of the noblest 
poetry, we do not find that appreciation of 
babyhood for its own sake which is charac* 
teristic of more modern times. The earliest 
years of the children were .spent with the 
women, and a father did not usually begin to 
take an interest in his son until he was quite 
a lad and could be trained to all manly pursuits. 
In fact, not only the baby, but also the some- 
what older child, seems to be regarded not 
for what he is but for what he will become ; 
and this idea is especially observable in .that 
ardent desire of all Jewish women under the 
old dispensation to have a M man child," one 
who would repeat in the next generation the 
virtues and the prowess of his sire. 

The poetry of ancient Greece is certainly 

full of many beautiful references to the 

charms of childhood* but there can be no 

doubt that these are in many cases inspired 

by natural pity for those wholesale sacrifices 

of mothers and babes which characterized 

the barbarous warfare of ancient times. 

There is, however, one scene in Homer— the 

famous farewell of Hector to Andromache — ■ 

which seems* in part at least, to anticipate 

the modern appreciation of infancy. The 

mother and child bid farewell to the hero as 

he leaves for the battle, and the little one, 

frightened by the clashing noise made by his 
° 'Griginarfrarn ' 






4 ET t! 

Therr Is a garden in her face, 
Where rose* and white lilies blow. 


Mm Us *q fair, they might supply 
The sculptor to make Heauty by. 

— CHAJtLtiS La^iu, 

Let the sky rain potatoes 


Bliss was it in that d&wu 10 be alive« 


Vol. xxxv.— 20. 








Iron may hold wilh hrr, but never lutes ! 


Ten liny fingers ten liny to**, 

Baby's always co-unting, &? of course stat linows, 

-LI. K. B. 




The pleasant 




All who joy would win 
Mu< share iu Happiness w^h Ijoth a twin.— Bytchn. 

You are more ihnn the earth, though ymi nrc such a dot ; 
You can love and think, and ihe earth cannot I 

When Mich a sptt:i,ms mirror's .set befure liim 
He needs must see himself. 



Ti* a naughty night tosuirn in.— SHAKKSJMEAJtePQinBl trOFTl 





father's armour, hides himself in the bosom 
of his nurse with a cry of terror. His father 
and mother smile at this, and then Hector, 
taking off his helmet, kisses his son tenderly, 
and addresses to Zeus and all the other gods 
that infinitely touching prayer that they 
would be pleased to make him braver than 
his sire. 

As a rule, however, in both Greek and 
Roman poetry we fail to find that modern 
appreciation of very young children, of what 
Mrs. Meynell has so exquisitely called 
" their tenderness, their down, their colour, 
their fullness, which is like that of a thick 
rose or of a tight grape." We find rather the 
portrayal of maternal love, or the child is 
mentioned on account of his future position. 
The new eyes with which Christianity taught 
mankind to regard childhood surely find their 
noblest expression in Milton's majestic 
" Hymn to the Nativity." 

The sight of a very young infant irresistibly 
recalls to the mind that famous epigram of 
Sir William Jones : — 

On parent knees, a naked new-born child, 
Weeping thou sat'st while all around thee smiled ; 
So live that, sinking to thy last long sleep, 
Calm thou mayst smile while all around thee weep. 

These lines, which surely constitute in their 
simplicity and in the happiness of the anti- 
thesis one of the most perfectly typical epi- 
grams ever written, are really a translation 
from the Persian. In them may be perceived, 
it is interesting to note, that same view of 
the child which we have before observed as 
characteristic of non-Christian peoples — that 
is to say, they looked upon the child not in 
simple objective appreciation of its present 
beauties, but with a kind of ethical interest 
in what it was to become. 

In remarkable contrast to this is George 
Macdonald's famous poem : — 

" Where did you come from, baby, dear ?" 
" Out of the everywhere into here." 

" Where did you get those eyes so blue ? " 
ct Out of the sky as I came through/' 

# • » * 

" Feet, whence did you come, you darling things ? " 
" From the same box as the cherubs' wings." 

" How did they all just come to be you ? " 
" God thought about me, and so I grew." 

" But how did you come to us, you dear ?" 
14 God thought about you, and so I am here." 

The peculiar charm of this poem lies in 
its astonishingly studied and successful 
realization of a kind of infantile simplicity. 
Ethical considerations are absent, there is no 
moral lesson, and the poet is not in the 
least interested in what the baby is going to 

Vol. xxxv. — 21. 

by Google 

be in afterlife. He is solely occupied with 
the child's physical beauties and perfections, 
to which he assigns such origins as most 
exquisitely illustrate that world-old idea of 
the infant sent down from heaven fresh 
from the hand of God. Added to this, there 
is in the answers which he places in the 
mouth of the baby a naivete, a sort of dewy 
freshness, an absence of grown- up ideas, that 
one instinctively recognises them as being 
exactly what the baby would say if 
it could speak. George Macdonald, indeed, 
was himself the truest of child-lovers, for, not 
content with his own by no means small 
family of boys and girls, he and his wife 
actually adopted an extra child. 

One of the greatest of modern English 
poets, Lord Tennyson, must assuredly be 
counted among the true child-lovers, for he 
knew and understood babies. His son and 
biographer records that the poet would say 
of babies, "There is something gigantic 
about them ; the wide-eyed wonder of a babe 
has a grandeur in it which as children they 
lose. They seem to me to be prophets of a 
mightier race." 

The truth of this observation must appeal 
to everyone fortunate enough to be included 
among the intimate friends of any infant. It 
is necessary to insist on the intimacy, for, as 
all mothers and nurses know well, the tiny, 
helpless creatures are almost always sus- 
picious, and often terrified, of strangers. 
Only to familiar, trusted faces do they show 
their curious, elusive charm — that "wide- 
eyed wonder," in Tennyson's happy phrase — 
and also that extraordinary look of deep 
thought. You will see an infant of a few 
months old examining the pattern of its little 
bed-quilt with the profundity, the solemn 
wisdom, of some venerable philosopher 
grappling with a world-old problem of meta- 

Those who have had no experience of 
babies are apt to think — and, if they are 
candid, to say (though not in the hearing of 
any mother !) — that there is no expression in 
the face of a young infant. Extraordinary 
delusion ! The truth is that it is like a 
mountain tarn, of which the apparently still 
surface reflects every wandering sunbeam, 
every passing cloud, and dimples in response 
to every breeze of heaven. Even more 
rapid, sometimes, are the changes on a 
baby's face, the only index we have to the 
marvellous workings of the tiny, unformed 
brain within. Surely there is nothing more 
beautiful in Nature than these first signs of 
dawning intelligence ; every mother remem- 

\jx iQiridi Tropin 



bers all the rest of her life her baby's first 
smile. As Longfellow sings : — 

Ah ! what would the world be to us 

If the children were no more ? 
We should dread the desert behind us 
Worse than the dark before. 

And again, addressing the babies : — 
Ye are better than ail the ballads 

That ever were sung or said ; 
For ye are living poems, 
And all the rest are dead. 
But it must be confessed that we do not 
often find in the poets that really intimate 
observation of babyhood which we should 
have in abundance if only every mother and 
every nurse was herself a poet ! Rather do 
we find an objective, aesthetic appreciation of 
the manifold beauties of infancy. What, for 
instance, can be more exquisite than this 
word-picture of a sleeping baby by Elizabeth 
Barrett Browning? — 

Sleep on, baby, on the floor, 

Tired of all the playing : 
Sleep with smile the sweeter for 

That you dropped away in. 
On your curls' full roundness stand 

Golden lights serenely ; 
One cheek, pushed out by the hand, 

Folds the dimple inly ; 
Little head and little foot 
Heavy laid for pleasure, 
Underneath the lids half shut 
Slants the shining azure. 

Coventry Patmore, himself a devoted 
father, has in his intensely autobiographical 
poems more than one realistic picture of 
infancy. For instance : — 

I sipp'd her tea, saw baby scold 
And finger at the muslin fold, 
Through which he push'd his nose at last, 
And choked and chuckled, feeding fast. 

To find a parallel we must again quote 
from Mrs. Browning these lovely lines, in 
which she seems to show us the very heart 
of maternal love :— 
What art's for a woman ? To hold on her knees 

Both darlings ! To feel all their arms round her 
Cling, strangle a little ! To sew by degrees 

And 'broider the long-clothes and neat little coat ; 

To dream and to doat. 

" To dream and to doat." Somehow the 
lines turn the mind to the thought of those 
little ones who will never grow up — those 
fair flowers whom " the Reaper whose name 
is Death " has reaped as well as " the 
bearded grain " — and we think in how many 
a locked drawer or cabinet are kept little 
shoes, tiny bonnets, corals, such pathetic 
memorials, to be taken out at night when 
all is still and gazed at by yearning, tear- 
brimmed mother's eyes. 

And then we recall those comforting lines 
of Christina Rossetti's : — 

by Google 

A million buds are born that never blow, 
That sweet with promise lift a pretty head 
To blush and wither on a barren bed 

And leave nc fruit to show, 

Sweet, unfulfilled. Yet have I understood 
One joy, by their fragility made plain ; 
Nothing was ever beautiful in vain, 

Or all in vain was good. 

But let us turn from the thought of loss to 
see how the poets picture the baby alive and 
awake. And first we may note the perfectly 
child-like simplicity with which a great poet 
like Tennyson draws, in his famous " Cradle 
Song," the awakening infant : — 

What does little baby say, 
In her bed at peep of day ? 
Baby says, like little birdie, 
Let me rise and fly away. 
Baby, sleep a little longer, 
Till the little limbs are stronger. 
If she sleeps a little longer, 
Baby, too, shall fly away. 

Longfellow, again, realizes in perfection the 
baby at play : — 

With what a look of proud command 
Thou shakest in thy little hand 
The coral rattle with its silver bells, 
Making a merry tune ! 

There, too, is absolute simplicity combined 
with extraordinary realism, for what mother 
will not instantly recognise the truth of the 
" look of proud command " which she has 
so often seen on her darling's face ? 

With the mysterious, haunting charm of 
this poet's fancy may be placed that en- 
trancing poem entitled "Babyhood," by one 
whom many regard as the greatest singer of 
our generation, Algernon Charles Swin- 
burne : — % 

Rose, round whose bed 

Dawn's cloudlets close, 

Earth's brightest -bred 
Rose » 

No song love knows 

May praise the head 

Your curtain shows. 

Ere sleep has fled, 

The whole child glows 

One sweet, live, red 
Rose ! 

In another poem Swinburne has drawn an 
equally unforgetable picture of delicious 
infancy, with which we may fitly conclude 
this garland of flowers from poets' gardens: — 

What price could pay with earth's whole weight of 

One least flushed roseleafs fold 
Of all this dimpling store of smiles that shine 

From each warm curve and line, 
Each charm of flower-sweet flesh, to re-illume 

The dappled rose -red bloom 
Of all its dainty body, honey-sweet, 

Clenched hands and curled-up feet, 
That on the roses of ihe dawn have trod 

As they came down from God. . . . ? 

Original from 




Adventure of 

Sam Bnggs. 

T'S %n extraordinary thing that 
you never do know your kick. 
Who would have Lhought that 
coming into what you migiit 
call a hatful of money would 
have been the cause of my 
very nearly losing every friend I have, to say 
nothing of their all wanting to knock me to 
pieces. 1 found the letter on the breakfast 
table. Being a trifle late and in a hurry to 
catch the train, I tore it open anyhow, and 
touk out what was inside between, as it were T 
a mouthful of bacon and a drink of tea. 
There were two papers. One was — well, 
I've taken a few cheques to the bank for 
the governor, so I ought to know a cheque 
when I see it, and if . that wasn't one 
it looked uncommonly like it But when I 
saw what was written on it I thought some- 
one was having a game with me ; " Pay Sam 
Bnggs or order — Eighty nine pounds eleven 
shillings and sevenpence," 

"All right, my boy," I said out loud, 
" whoever you are don't you think you've got 
the laugh on me just yet ; because we're not 
quite so simple as we look," But when I 
opened the other paper I stared. According 
to it the Editor of Tit-Bits had much 

by Google 

pleasure in forwarding me a 
cheque for eighty nine pounds 
eleven shillings and seven pence, 
which was the prize that had been awarded 
me for the last lint; which I had supplied to 
that week's Limerick. 

For the first moment I had no more 
idea of what it all meant than the man in 
the moon. Then, by degrees, a hazy 
recollection began to come over me— and 
a pretty hazy one it was. I remembered 
that at that party at Tom Dowling's there 
had been some conversation about what they 
called a Limerick, which was a thing I had 
never heard of in my life before ; and — my 
word! If that was it, I knew, before I 
had had time to put the cup down in the 
saucer, that there would be more conversa- 
tion about the cheque, by a good deal, than 
there had been about the Limerick. There 
was a bit there and then. While I sat there, 
with the cheque in one hand and the letter 
in the other, staring at them like a gaby, my 
sister Amelia came into the room. 

11 Sam," she cried, 1£ what was in that 
envelope with Til-Bits at the back?" I 
hope I have sense enough to get in out of 
the rain ; and the sight of her was quite 
enough to start me cramming the letter and 
the cheque into my jacket pocket But she 
is so quick, is Amelia, that she had had a 

Original from 




peep at the cheque before I could hide it 
away. " I do believe," she said, " that 
you've won a prize ! You've got a cheque ! 
Oh, Sam ! For how much is it ? Let me 
look at it ! " 

"Excuse me," I remarked, buttoning up 
my jacket, with the cheque safe in the right- 
hand bottom pocket, " but when I require 
your interference in my affairs I'll let you 

" Sam Briggs," she went on, " you have 
won a prize. Mind, I'm going to have my 
share, and Tom's going to have his ! " 

" Your share ! Tom's ! Really, Amelia, 
you do run on." And so she did. "As I 
have to catch a train, if you'll be so good as 
to stand away from that door I shall feel 
obliged — unless, of course, you want to get 
me the sack." 

She stood aside ; but she ran on. 

"All right, Sam Briggs ; I know you ! Ill 
buy this week's Tit-Bits — there'll be all about 
it there ; and, whatever it is you've won, you 
trust Tom to take care that you don't cheat 
either of us ! " 

As I was going along the street, who 
should come running down it but Bob 
Willett I heard him shouting after me. 

" Halloa, Briggs ! Stop a minute ! " I 
did not want to stop a minute — not much. 
But he was coming along at such a pace that 
even if I had taken to running too he would 
have caught me. " Seen Tit-Bits ? " he asked. 

" No," I told him, " I have not. And, if 
you'll excuse me, I have to catch a train." 

" All right — plenty of trains ! Briggs, 
we've won that prize ! " I did not want to 
ask him what prize ; I did not want to ask 
him what he meant by " we " ; I did not 
want to have an argument with anyone. 
I could see plain enough that there was no 
call for me to say a word ; he could talk 
enough for two. 

"Look here! See that?" 

He held Tit-Bits out open in front of me. 

"There you are! — large as life! — my 
line ! " 

I did prick up my ears at that ; his line ! 
Was it his line ? I had no more notion of 
whose line it was than the policeman over 
the way. I could see plain enough there 
was trouble ahead. 

" Eighty-nine pounds eleven shillings and 
sevenpence that line of mine has won. I 
knew it was a topper ! I say, Briggs, that 
cheque ought to reach you to-day ; according 
to them, prize-winners get their cheques 
before they get the paper." 

I said not a word about what was in my 

by Google 

jacket pocket. I desired to have no con- 
tention with him, or with anyone, out in the 
street. There would have been contention 
had I not been careful, as his next remark 

"Of course, according to law, the line 
being mine, the money's mine — all the jolly 
lot of it ; but I'm generous to a fault, and 
always have been ; so I'll not only content 
myself with two-thirds, but I'll make you a 
present of the other third, and I think, 
Briggs, you'll call that handsome." 

I did not tell him what I thought — as a 
matter of fact I did not think anything — I 
w r asn't feeling the same man I had been when 
I sat down to breakfast. Fortunately, his 
office lay in a different direction to mine, so 
I got rid of him before I reached the station. 
I did not gain much by getting rid of him, 
because when I came to the station there was 
Arthur Timmins standing in the doorway. 
He came rushing up at sight of me. 

" I'm late for the office, and I'm in for a 
wigging, but I couldn't go without seeing 
you, my Samuel. Have you seen Tit-Bits ? " 

" Excuse me," I told him, " but I have to 
catch a train." 

" Right-ho ! We'll catch a train between us." 

Down the stairs we rushed. There was 
one at the platform ; we got on to it just as 
the doors were being shut, and the train 
started. He began at me before I had had 
time to find a strap, to say nothing of a seat. 

" Samuel, that coupon of mine has won 
one of the prizes." 

Coupon — what coupon ? I did not know 
what he meant, so I as good as said. 

"You remember that party Tom Dowling 
gave to celebrate his engagement to your 
sister ? " 

It did not look as if I was ever likely to 
forget it; but that I did not tell him. I 
kept it locked in my own breast. 

" Very well, then ; don't you remember I 
took my copy of Tit-Bits there with me?" 

I did not. The truth was that, after a 
certain point, I had no clear recollection of 
what took place at the party. 

" Then I started talking about that week's 
Limerick, and one person suggested a last 
line, and a second person suggested a line ; 
then they all started talking at once, and one 
thing led to another, and the end of it was 
that I cut the coupon out of my paper, and 
on my coupon a line was written, and my 
coupon was sent in ) and now, as it's my 
coupon which has won one of the prizes, I'm 
fairly entitled to half of it, as you can see for 

Original from 



If Bob Willett was going to have 
two-thirds and I was going to have 
a third, and Tom Dowling was going 
to have one share and Amelia 
another, I could not see how he 
was going to have half, try as I 
might I saw it still less when Charlie 
Harris came squeezing in at Earls Court 
and began to make unpleasant remarks to 
me over another party's shoulder, 

"Now, Sam Bri^s, hand over that twelve 
pounds fifteen shillings and elevenpence !" 

That's the way he began at me, right off! 
Without so much as saying good morning or 
asking how I was, as if I owed him money, 

11 When you explain/' I said, M HI talk to 

11 Come off of it ! " was his reply. *' Doivt 
you try that on with me ! You know very 
well what I mean ! There were six of us 
put a penny each towards the postal order, 
and somebody else gave the stamp, and the 
understanding was that if anything came of 
it we were to cut it up between us + " 

"Now that Mr. Harris mentions it," 
exclaimed Arthur Timmins, who was on the 
other side of me, " I have a recollection of 
something of the sort." 

41 1 should think you had ; it'd be funny if 
you hadn't ! So don't you play any of yuur 
tricks, Sam Briggs, because there'll be seven 
of us to talk to you if you do." 

u You'll bear in mind, of course, Mr. 
Harris, that it was my coupon on which the 


by Google 

line was written, cut 
out of the paper for 
which Vd paid ; so 
as it w T as my coupon 
which won the prize 
it stands to reason 
that I'm entitled to 
conic in with the rest 
of you, so that there'll 
be eight of us to 
share," said Timmins. 
11 1 don't know 
anything about any 
coupon, and I don't 
see what a coupon's 
got to do with it 
anyhow. All 1 do 
know is that the 
understanding be- 
t w ce n u s s e ven w ho 
put up the money 
was that, if any- 
thing did come of 
it, it would be 
equal shares." 

It was unneces- 
sary for me to enter 
into any argument ; 
they did all in that 
line that anyone 
could have wanted, 
and more too, Timmins got out at the 
Mansion House, but Harris not only came 
on to Aldgate, but he walked with me right 
to the office door — I need not say uninvited. 
There are two other clerks in the same room 
with me ; before I had had time to hang my 
hat on its peg they were both of them at me. 
Percy Saunders was the worst, 

" How about that eighty-nine pounds 
eleven shillings and seven pence ? JP he asked. 
" When that cheque conies along don't 
you forget my share, mv Highland 
laddie ! " 

Why he calls me Highland laddie beats me, 
But there is no knowing what the Postscript 
—which is what I call him — means by any- 
thing he says. It was like his impudence to 
speak to me at all, seeing that for some days 
we had not been on the best of terms, and 
that we had not so much as recognised each 
other the whole of that week. On he went. 
" Perhaps you are not aware, Mr. Briggs, that 
I was one of the subscribers to the postal 
order, and that, as such, I am entitled to 
:i seventh share." 

"And I'm another of the subscribers," 
said Augustus Brown. 

The Postscript turned to Brown. 

Original from 



" Excuse me, Brown, but that is not 
according to my recollection." 

" Who cares for your recollection ? Who 
ought to remember best — you or me ? I 
tell you that I subscribed a penny." 

" I have put down the names of the sub- 
scribers on this piece of paper, as I remember 
them, and I believe I have them right. This 
is most important, you know ; because, 
Briggs, when you do get that cheque you'll 
merely be holding it in trust for us. Here's 
my list : Tom Dowling,' Miss Briggs, Bert 
Barlow, Frank Martin, Jack Carter, and me. 
We subscribed a penny each, and Phil Davis 
contributed the stamp." 

" I beg your pardon," cut in Augustus 
Brown ; " I contributed the stamp." 

"Just now you said you gave a penny." 

" Doesn't it come to the same thing ? " 

"You mentioned a coin — one penny. You 
said nothing about a stamp." 

" Davis handed over a stamp, and for it 
I handed him a penny. Now do you see 
what I mean ? " 

" I see what you mean ; but I know 
nothing about your handing any penny to 
Davis j that you'll have to talk to him about." 

I made an observation. 

" I noticed one name wasn't on your list — 
Charlie Harris ; he says he gave a penny." 

" Charlie Harris ! — says he gave a penny ! 
He did nothing of the kind ! " 

"I'm under the same impression," said 

"All I can say is that he and Timmins 
came near to fighting about it in the train ; 
and Harris walked with me right to this 
very door to tell me that he did about a 
hundred times over." 

Just then in came George Hopkins, as if 
he was in a hurry and short of breath. 

" I can't stop a second," he began ; "but 
I've just seen that your name's in Tit-Bits as 
one of the winners in this week's Limerick, 
Briggs- Of course, that's rubbish ; because, 
whatever part of it I may choose to give you, 
it's my eighty-nine pounds eleven and seven- 
pence, as I wrote the winning line." 

" Do you mean to say," I asked, " that it 
was you who made it up ? " 

I was thinking of what Bob Willett had 
said about its being him 

" Not exactly," he replied. " As a matter 
of fact, I don't think it could be said that 
any one person made it up — we made it up 
between us. What I mean is that it was I 
who wrote it on the coupon. If you've any 
doubt you can go to the office and you'll see 
it's my writing ; and as the prize goes to the 

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one who wrote the winning line, that settles 
it So I just looked in to warn you not to 
touch a penny of that cheque when you get 
it ; or, as it's against the law to compound a 
felony, I shall be compelled to take steps 
which I shall be very sorry to have to take 
against one who was once a friend." 

We were still slanging away when Harold 
Parker appeared. Parker is a shop-walker 
at one of the large drapers in St. Paul's 
Churchyard. If he is anything near such a 
big man as he fancies himself I wonder he 
does not go about in a show. As he stood 
there in front of che empty fireplace, with his 
hands under the tails of his frock-coat and 
his top-hat a little on one side of his head, to 
look at him you would have thought he 
owned the street. The way he talks gives 
me the needle. They say he is president, or 
something or other, of the West Brompton 
House of Commons. I am sorry for them if 
he is. 

" I have looked in, Mr. Briggs, with refer 
ence to an announcement which I have 
observed in the current issue of Tit-Bits — 
referring to the Limerick, Mr. Briggs, the 
Limerick. I note that your name is in the 
list of prize-winners. In view of that fact 1 
wish to point out to you that, as you are, 
doubtless, already aware, my sister, Miss Lily 
Parker, was one of the subscribers to the cost 
of the postal order with which the entrance 
fee was paid." 

" Begging your pardon, Parker," struck in 
Saunders, " but your sister was nothing ol 
the kind ; you're wrong." 

" I'm not aware, Mr. Saunders, that I was 
addressing you. Kindly confine yourself to 
your own affairs. There were six persons 
who contributed a penny each and one who 
contributed a stamp. There then remained 
the question of the halfpenny with which to 
pay for the order. I happened to be near 
my sister when, drawing out her purse, she 
observed to Miss Maud Simpson, who was 
beside her, Til give one farthing, Maudie, 
if you'll give another.' And with that she 
took a farthing out of her purse, and Miss 
Maud Simpson took a farthing out of- hers, 
and the two coins were added to the general 
fund. As the understanding was that all 
contributors were to be treated alike, I have 
to request you, Mr. Briggs, to see, when 
the prize money comes to hand, that my 
sister receives her proper share. There is 
another point. As the copy of Tit- Bits from 
which the coupon was taken was my property, 
that makes me a contributor, and I also 
become entitled to a pro rata share." 

Original from 





il I don't know, Mr. Parker/ 1 I told him, 
" how you make out that it was your copy of 
Tit-BiiSy seeing that Arthur Timmins says it 
was his." 

"The truth is," said Saunders, "there 
were three or four Tit-Bits about the room, 
as I specially noticed, and I'll defy anyone 
to say out of whose copy that coupon 

Parker gave one little sideways glance at 
him — like a whale might look at a sprat. 

"Once more, Mr, Saunders, I was not 
aware that I was addressing you. I can only 
warn you, Mr. Briggs, that, as regards that 
money, unless my sister, as well as myself, 
receive, in the course of the next few hours, 
our proper shares, you will receive from my 
sister's solicitor, as well as from my own, 
communications which will call you to a 
severe account. Good day, Mr. Briggs. tT 

Just as I was going out to dinner, who 
should come in hut Tom Howling and 
Frank Martin. The very first words Bowling 
said to me were these : — 

by Google 

" Now, then, Sam, you know what I've 
come for. Hand over I " 

££ Hand over ! Hand over what ? I've 
got nothing of yours that I'm aware of." 

Dowling turned to Martin, who is about 
two inches bigger than he is. 

" You see, Frank ? I told you how it 
would be. The shortest way is, perhaps, the 

What be meant I had no notion ; and 
before I could ask, if Martin did not take 
me from the back and Dowling from the 
front, lay me on my back on the top of my 
own desk, and start searching my pockets ! 
And if Dowling did not take the cheque 
from out of one of my jacket pockets and the 
Editor's letter from another — and me help- 
less ! If that was not highway robbery, I 
don't know what is ; and so, as soon as 
they had taken their hands off me, I up 
and I did let them have it! But that 
Tom Dowling — what Amelia sees in him I 
never could understand — took no more 
notice of me than if I had not been speaking. 

Original from 


i 5 6 


He examined the cheque and the letter — my 
cheque and my letter I — theft he let Martin 
have a look at them ; then he coolly folded 
them up and put them in his pocket book 

" You don't mean to say/ 1 burst out 
Saunders — who, with Augustus Brown, had 
been looking on at what was nothing else 
than an outrage, without so much as offering 
to lend me a hand — ** that he's had the prize 
money on him all the time ? If that isn't a 

place again to-night at half-past eight sharp, 
when very prohably we shall be able to 
arrive at a common amicable understanding* 
Perhaps, Mr* Saunders and Mr. Brown, you 
may find it convenient to be there also ; and 
Sam, if you're very good and promise to 
behave, we may let you come too.' 

1 was there at half-past eight to the tick. 
They were all there, in Tom Dowling's front 
room ; and there was not much room left 


facer ! You're a beauty, Sam Briggs, upon 
my word you are ! " 

Dowling took him on. 

vi Don't you bother yourself about Sam t 
Mr t Saunders— Sam's all right. When you've 
once got used to his funny little ways you'll 
find that there's no more harm in him than 
there h in a baby, only you've got to get used 
to them first. As there seems to be some 
slight difference of opinion as to what ought 
to be done with this nice little cheque which 
the Editor of Tit- Bits has been so good as to 
send along, I've intimated to all those. ladies 
and gentlemen who honoured me with their 
presence on a recent auspicious occasion 
that I shall be very glad to see them at my 

by Google 

for anyone else who might happen to drop, 

Then Tom Dowling made what you might 
call a sort of speech, 

" Ladies and gentlemen, it is not long 
since you did me the honour to assemble in 
this humble apartment for the purpose of 
offering me your congratulations on my 
engagement to a charming young lady." 

11 Hear, hear ! " said someone. It was 
certainly not me. 

Amelia bowed Fancy anyone railing her 
a charming young lady ! He would talk 
differently when he knew her as well as I did. 

M You will remember that, after supper, 
someone introduced the subject of Limericks; 

Original from 



in fact, someone produced a copy of Tit-Bits^ 
in which all and sundry were invited to try 
their skill in supplying a last line to an 
unfinished Limerick. It appears that there 
were no less than four copies of Hit-Bits in 
the room that night, and the owner of each 
is under the impression that his was the copy 
which was used. The four lines which were 
given were these : — 

There once was a lady whose hair 
Was found on the back of a chair ; 
It occasioned much talk, 
She had gone for a walk ! — 

What was required was a fifth line. I 
suppose some dozens of lines were discussed, 
and possibly a suggestion was made by nearly 
every person in the room." 

"The line which was actuallychosen, "called 
out Bob Willett, "was my composition." 

"You're mistaken," cried someone who 
was not known to me. " It was mine." 

" My own impression, gentlemen, is that in 
its entirety it was no one's ; that it was a case 
of here a little and there a little ; and that, 
in a manner of speaking, it was concocted 
between us." 

"Anyhow, I wrote the line upon the 

"I believe, Hopkins, that you did, and 
for that you shall have credit. There then 
arose the question of the sixpenny postal 
order. Six pennies, two farthings, and one 
stamp were contributed by* I am given to 
understand, thirteen persons. It seems as if 
there must be something a little wrong some- 
where, and that, in four cases, memory must 
be playing tricks." 

Harold Parker put in his word. 

" I trust that you are not suggesting, 
Dowling " 

"I am suggesting nothing, Parker, as, if 
you will let me finish, you will see. On one 
point I believe we shall be all agreed. When 
the line was found there arose the question 
of who was to sign the coupon. My honoured 
friend, and, I trust, soon to be relative, 
Samuel Briggs, Esquire, was asleep on the 
couch, his slumber having possibly, in a 
measure, been induced by his polite attention 
to the negus at supper." 

Some of them laughed — I do not know 
what at, I am sure. I was all ears. I had 
been wondering, ever since I saw it, how that 
cheque had got to me. 

" He had taken no part in the discussion ; 
was in complete ignorance of what had taken 
place; so I suggested that we should wake 

him up, and that he should sign. You will 
remember that he did not wake up in the 
very best of tempers ; that he had not the 
vaguest notion of what it was to which we 
persuaded him to affix, with rather a shaky 
hand, his signature ; and that, almost as soon 
as he had affixed it, he was asleep again." 

More laughter from some of them. It 
made no difference to me ; so far as I was 
concerned, those might laugh who liked. 
Dowling went on : — 

" I gathered together the pennies, the 
farthings, and the coupon. The following 
day, with the money which had been sub- 
scribed, I purchased a postal order and dis- 
patched the coupon. By what no one need 
regard, unless he likes, as a lucky fluke, our 
line has been adjudged one of the best sent 
in, and this morning a handsome cheque 
reached our dear friend Samuel. He feels, 
as we feel, that its coming to him was a mere 
form, and that, as it was a joint transaction, 
it should be regarded and treated as a joint 
cheque, There were twenty-two of us present 
on that occasion, and there are twenty-two of 
us present now. My proposition is that the 
proceeds of the cheque should be divided 
into twenty-two equal parts ; that each of us 
should have one ; and then there will be no 
room for feeling that anyone's claim has been 

Before he had finished they were clapping 
their hands and stamping their feet and saying 
" Hear, hear ! " So on he went again. 

" I take it, ladies and gentlemen, from the 
kind way in which you have received my 
proposition that the sense of the meeting is 
in favour of it, and that it has been carried 
nem. con. Now, you public benefactor, Sam 
Briggs, if you'll oblige us with your signature 
a second time — this time on the back of this 
cheque — to-morrow I'll get it cashed ; and 
in the course of to-morrow you will each of 
you receive a twenty-second part." 

Oh, I put my signature on the back of the 
cheque ; oh, yes, I always have been one to 
do anybody a good turn, and I was quite 
willing to oblige Tom Dowling, in spite of 
the way in which he had treated me. Any- 
how, I did get four pounds, and four golden 
sovereigns are quite worth having. Though, 
of course, when you compare them with 
eighty-nine pounds eleven shillings and 
sevenpence ! Still, all the same, I did not 
do so badly, considering. And Tom Dowling 
himself had to admit that I had been a 
public benefactor. 

Vol. xxxv.— 22. 

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Original from 



Author of "Daltoti on Bridge" "Saturday Bria&e" u Bridge at a Glance? etc. 

ET me preface this article by 
stating that none of the follow- 
ing anecdotes are imaginary ; 
they, one and all of them, 
actually occurred at the card- 
table, I can vouch, person- 
ally, for the truth of most of them, and those 
of which I was not myself a witness have 
been thoroughly well authenticated. 

I will begin with a story which some of 
my readers may have heard before, as I told 
it in print about a year ago, but it is so good 
that it will well bear repetition. 

Four members of a well known London 
club were joint proprietors of a shoot in 
Norfolk, and, being all enthusiastic bridge- 
players, they naturally put in the evenings, 
when they were down there, by playing their 
favourite game. On one occasion one of 
the quartet was unavoidably prevented 
from going at the last moment, and there 
was no time to fill up his place, consequently 
the party was reduced to three, and there 
was not the nucleus for a rubber. As they 
were returning from shooting the first evening 
they overtook the local parson, and walked 
on with him. One of the trio conceived a 
happy idea, and said to the cleric : — 

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" Are you, by any chance, a card-player ? " 

u Oh, yes," he answered ; '* I am very fond 
of a game of cards, but I never play for 

" That doesn't matter," was the reply ; 
11 whoever is your partner will carry your 
points. Come and dine with us to-night, 
and we will have a rubber after dinner," and 
so it was arranged. 

His reverence duly turned up to dinner, 
and proved to be quite a good sportsman 
and a very agreeable companion. Dinner 
over, they adjourned to the smoking-room 
and proceeded to cut for partners. The 
player on the parson's left had the first deal, 
and declared hearts, The eldest hand said, 
11 Shall I play ? ■ to which his partner replied, 
t{ You had better do so." 

The king of diamonds was led, when, 
before the dummy had even time to put 
down his cards, the padre popped down the 
king of spades with an air of triumph, and 
said, " Snap ! " There was no more card play 
that evening. 

We have all heard stories of concerted 
signals between partners for giving informa- 
tion as to the value of their hands. We, of 
course, entirely refuse to believe that such 
Original from 




things exist at all, but the following incident 
seems to throw a sort of sidelight on to the 

A lady well known in London society was 
staying at an hotel at Biarritz, One evening 
she agreed to make up a rubber with some 
new hotel acquaintances. She cut with 
another lady as partner, and she herself had 
the first deal. She passed the declaration, 
and her partner declared diamonds and put 
down the knave, seven, five, and three of 
diamonds, with very little else of any value — 
an unmistakable spade call. The dealer 
had passed on a very moderate hand, and 
the natural result was that they lost three or 
four by cards. When the hand was over and 
the score marked, the dealer said to her 
partner, in her most charming manner, 
" Would you mind telling me, as a matter 
of curiosity, why you declared diamonds 
on that hand?" 

Her partner stared at her for a few 
moments, as though very much surprised at 
the question, and then said, " Would you 
mind telling me, also as a matter of curiosity, 
why you touched your necklace directly you 
had passed the declaration?" 

Not only the most innocent actions, but 
also the most innocent remarks, are some- 
times liable to be misinterpreted, as in the 
case of the player who asked his partner, at 
the commencement of a rubber, " Are you a 
heartist?" and was met with the answer, 
" No, sir, I am a solicitor, but I fail to see 
what my profession has to do either with the 
game of bridge or with you." He was 
certainly misunderstood. 

Another case of a misunderstanding was 
the following. Three bridge-players were 
staying together at a seaside hotel. They 
tried to collect a fourth to make up a rubber, 
but for some time without success. At last 
they came across a man, staying in the same 
hotel, who said that he never had played 
bridge, but that he would very much like to 
learn, and that, if they would teach him, he 
would be very pleased to join them. 

One of the party, whom we will call the 
Professor, said, "That's all right. I could 
easily teach him the rudiments of the game." 

"Very well, then," said his two friends, 
"that shall be your job. You teach him, 
but, when you have taught him, you will 
have to play with him as a partner against us 

The Professor agreed, and from then till 
dinner-time he proceeded to explain to the 
beginner as much as he could of the general 
principles of the game. After dinner the 

match took place. Three rubbers were 
played, and the beginner, as is often the 
case, held such enormous cards that he 
and his partner won all three rubbers. 

The beginner was delighted. He said it 
was a very fine game, pocketed his winnings, 
and went off to bed very happy, but not 
before it had been arranged to play a return 
match the following evening. 

Next morning the Professor went into the 
hotel smoking-room and there met his pupil, 
who at once greeted him with : " Well, that 
was good business last night, wasn't it ? " 

" Yes," said the Professor, " we got on all 
right, thanks to the tremendous cards that 
we held, but I think we should be likely to 
get on still better to-night if you knew a little 
more about it. If you have half an hour to 
spare, I will give you a little more instruction 

The beginner thought this an excellent 
scheme, and for a whole hour the Professor 
held forth to him on the conventions of the 
game, the call for a suit, the heart con- 
vention, eta 

In the evening they resumed their match, 
but this time the cards took a different turn, 
with the result that the Professor and his 
partner lost all they had won the night 
before, and a bit more. 

As they were going up to bed the beginner 
took his partner by the arm and whispered in 
his ear : — 

"I say, old man, that little swindle of 
yours didn't pan out very well, did it ? " 

It is, I believe, on record that a hand 
containing four aces once lost five by cards 
at No Trumps. I never heard the details of 
-this particular hand, but I was playing in a 
rubber myself when four by cards was lost 
not only with four aces, but with several 
other gotod cards. 

The score was Y Z 12, A B 8. Z dealt 
and left it. Y declared No Trumps. The 
four hands were : — 

Hearts— Ace, knave, 6. 
Diamonds— Ace, 9, 4. 
Clubs— Ace, 3. 
Spa des — Ace, que en, 9, 7, a. 

Hearts— Queen. 8, 7, 4. 
Diamonds — King, 7, 2. 
Clubs— Queen, 6. 
Spades— 8, 6, 5. 3- 



A B 



Hearts— King, 10, 5. 
Diamonds— Knave, 10. 

8.5. > 
Clubs— 10, p., 5, 9. 
Spades— King. 

by Google 

Hearts— 9. 3,2. 
Diamonds— Queen, 6. 
Clubs— King, knave, 8. 7, 4. 
Spades — Knave, 10, 4. 

Here the dealer had an absolute certainty 
of winning eight tricks and the game. The 
lead of the four of hearts, the dealer having 
the two and three in his own hand, showed 

Original from 




that A had only four hearts, therefore all the 
dealer had to do was to win the second round 
of hearts, clear the spades, and he must win 
four tricks in spades, two in clubs, and the 
two red aces, giving him two by cards. Z, 
however, who was playing the hand, did not 
elect to play it in this way, but held up the 
ace of hearts on the second round. Probably 
the idea had been hammered into his mind 
at some time or other that he ought to hold 
up the commanding card of his opponents' 
original lead as long as possible, and he did 
so in this case. 

Trick i. 

Y (dumm y) 


9 9 

<? <P 


9 <? 


AB, i 
YZ, o 

Trick 2. 
Y (dummy) 

I was B myself on this unhappy occasion, 
and when I saw that my partner had led from 
four hearts only, it was obviously no good 
going on with that suit, so I led the knave of 

Trick 4. 


* * 

+ * 


Y Z,2 

Trick 3, Z was by this time getting a little 
tired of holding up aces, so he won the trick 
with the ace of diamonds, but even then he 
would not clear the spade suit, but went for 
the finesse in clubs, hoping, as he explained 
afterwards, to be able to finesse the spades 
after he had made all his clubs. 

Trick 6. 



o o 


o o 





AB, 4 


I was now left with three good diamonds, 
but, the game being saved, I thought I would 
play to win it, which I must do if Z took the 

by L^OOgle 

finesse in spades, so I led the nine of clubs. 
Z won it with the king, and at once took the 
finesse. My single king of spades won the 
trick, and I made the three diamonds and 
the ten of clubs, winning four by cards. 
Z played very badly in not clearing his spade 
suit at once, but, beyond this initial mistake, 
he did nothing very wrong, and yet it made 
a difference of eight or nine tricks. If the 
hand had been played at double dummy, 
with the position of every card known, we 
could never have won more than two tricks, 
one heart and one diamond, but as it was 
played we won no fewer than ten tricks. 

It is sometimes extremely difficult to 
refrain from pointing out his shortcomings to 
one's partner when he has made a hopeless 
mess of a hand with great possibilities. Of 
course, we all know that it is very stupid to 
do so; it can serve no good purpose, but 
only tends to upset one's partner and to 
make him play his cards worse than ever. 
The wise course to pursue is to sit and suffer 
in silence, and to hope that, when one has 
the good fortune to cut against the offender, 
he will give one back those wasted chances 
with a little interest. This theory is, how- 
ever, very difficult to practise. We are only 
human, and it is not given to everybody to 
possess an unlimited supply of self-command. 

I am afraid that I was at one time, and 
possibly am still, a bad offender in this 
respect. It is so very difficult to keep one's 
mouth closed when one sees chance after 
chance thrown away, and cards played which 
can do no possible good, but may do a lot of 

Some time ago, before the general standard 
of play was anything like so good as it is at 
the present day, a friend of mine, who is 
nothing if not practical in his views, said to 
me, " What a fool you are to tell these fellows 
when they play wrong ! Not only does it do 
no possible good, but you get yourself con- 
siderably disliked by pointing out their mis- 
takes, and it is entirely against your own 
interests. If you tell them everything that 
you know, they will soon play as well as you 
do, and all your advantage will be gone. If 
I were you I should sit and suffer when they 
give away tricks, knowing that it is bound to 
come back to me sooner or later." 

This was certainly quite a novel way to 
me of looking at it, and a way which would 
never have occurred to my own mind, but 
there may possibly be some element of truth 
in it. 

There are many stories in circulation about 
remarks, courteous or otherwise — mostly 
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otherwise — made by aggrieved players to 
their partners. One of the best of them is 
the following. 

Some years ago a certain gallant soldier, 
who was also a fine bridge-player, was in the 
habit of playing regularly at a London club 
where the points were exceptionally high. 
He was very quick to notice and to resent 
mistakes made by his partner, but he had 
one peculiarity : that the more his unhappy 
partner offended, the more suave and polite 
did he become in his manner. 

One afternoon he cut with a partner whom 
he had never seen before. No introduction 
was made, and the game commenced. The 
new-comer had to play a No-Trump hand, of 
which he made a most hopeless bungle, 
losing the odd trick when he ought to have 
won the game. The General, for such was 
his rank, smiled benignly on him, and said: — 

"I beg your pardon, sir, I have not the 
pleasure of knowing your name." 

" My name is Jones." 

" Ah ! Thank you so much. Well, Mr. 
Jones, I have never had the pleasure of 
meeting you before, but I hope you will not 
think me rude if I ask you a question ? " 

" Certainly not," said Jones ; " not at all. 
Ask me anything you like." 

" Thank you, Mr. Jones,"- said the General. 
" The question that I wish to ask you, and I 
trust that you will believe me when I assure 
you that it is not prompted by any feeling 
of idle curiosity, is whether you possess an 
income of ten thousand pounds a year ? " 

" No," replied Mr. Jones, very much sur- 
prised ; " I am afraid that I cannot lay claim 
to quite as much as that. I wish I could.' 1 

" Then, sir, allow me to tell you that you 
have no right to play bridge for these points." 

This crushing retort left nothing more to 
be said, and the game once more proceeded. 
Our poor friend " Jones " was by this time 
knocked out of his stride altogether, and he 
committed almost every card enormity that 
flesh is heir to, with the result that he and 
his partner lost a rubber which they ought to 
have won three or four times over. 

When it was finished the General, in his 
blandest and most insinuating tone, said, 
" Mr. Jones, I owe you an apology. I ought 
not to have said what I did." 

" Oh, please don't mention it," said Jones; 
" no apology is necessary at all. I really did 
not mind it a bit, and I am afraid I did play 
very badly." 

" That is not the point," said the General. 
" When I am wrong I always acknowledge it, 
and I was wrong in this case — altogether in 

by Google 

the wrong. When I said ten thousand 
pounds a year I ought to have said thirty 

Another incident of somewhat the same 
kind, although with rather a different ending, 
occurred in a provincial club very far remote 
from London. Nothing will induce me to 
give the name of the town, but I will put the 
letters N.B. after it. 

There is in this club, or there was until 
quite recently — he may possibly have been 
murdered by now — a player of very dicta- 
torial manners, who is apt to ride roughshod 
over the feelings of his unfortunate partner 
for the time being, and to read the Riot Act 
at the end of almost every hand, or even 
during the play of the hand. On one occa- 
sion he had as partner a very quiet, un- 
assuming young man, with charming manners, 
but, unfortunately, with a very elementary 
knowledge of the tactics of bridge. Everything 
went wrong from the start, and the vitupera- 
tion heaped upon that unhappy young man's 
head was something even worse than usual. 
At last the climax came. They were playing 
against a No-Trump declaration, and it was a 
question of saving the game. The young man 
had to lead, and, with every idea of the game 
that he had ever possessed entirely houleversi 
by his partner's criticisms, he led a heart, 
which was the worst card that he could have 
led, and they lost the game. Then the vials 
of wrath were poured forth. 

" What in the world induced you to lead 
that heart ? " 

" I did not know what to lead," said the 
harassed young man ; " the diamonds were 
obviously against us." 

" Diamonds ? Who said anything about 
diamonds ? Why could not you have led a 
black suit ? You had a black suit of some 
kind, I suppose, had not you ? " 

Then, at last, the worm turned. 

" Yes," he said ; " I had a black suit, and 
I've got it still, but I'm keeping that for your 
funeral ! " 

Criticism at the end of a hand is not 
always ill-natured. It can be quite good- 
natured, even if not exactly complimentary. 
The following story of a good-natured chaffing 
remark is distinctly funny. 

The late Mr. Winnie Gray, who was per- 
haps the most charming of all the Americans 
who have honoured us with their presence, 
was playing a rubber one afternoon. At the 
same table was a well-known London player, 
who is universally popular at the bridge- 
table whenever and wherever he plays, but 
whose skill in the management and play of 




his cards is by no means on a par with 
his popularity. For the purpose of this 
story we will call him the Artist When 
the rubber was over, the Artist's partner got 
up to leave the table. The Artist said : — 

"Don't go. I can't afford to lose you. 
Stay and play another rubber like a good 
chap, for my sake." 

He was, however, obliged to go and some- 
one else took his place. When he had gone, 
Mr. Gray said : — 

" Why were you so particularly anxious for 
that man to stay ? I did not notice anything 
very striking about his play." 

" Oh, it is not that at all," was the reply. 
" The reason that I did not want to lose him 
is that he is the only man I ever play with who 
does not find fault with me and tell me at 
the end of every hand what a lot of mistakes 
I have made." 

"Really?" said Mr. Gray. "Has he 
some impediment in his speech?" 

In conclusion I will tell, for the first time, 
quite the most curious incident .which ever 
came within my experience at the. bridge- 

One afternoon I went into the card-room 
of a London club, and found the usual 
rubber in full swing. A friend of mine, who 
is one of our finest players, was playing the 
two hands, and I sat down behind him to 
look on. It was a very strong rubber, all 
four players being of the first class, and there 
was quite a gallery of onlookers. There were 
five cards left in each hand, and the dealer's 
and the dummy's cards, which were, of course, 
all that I could see, were : — 

Dealer's Hand. 
Hearts — Queen, knave, 7. 
Diamonds — 9. 
Clubs— 5. 
Spades— None. 

Dummy's Hand. 
Hearts— 8. 
Diamonds— 6. 
Clubs — Knave, 4. 
Spades — 9. 

I asked the dealer what were trumps, and 
he said, " Hearts. We want three more 
tricks to win the game, and it is a near thing 
whether we get them. Those two are good " 
— indicating the queen and knave of trumps 
in his own hand. 

The player on his left had to lead, and, 
after carefully considering the position, which 
was obviously a difficult one, he led a small 
trump right up to the dealer. Dummy's 
eight was put on and the third hand played 
void, so there was the game won. The 
dealer had only to play his seven of trumps 
under his partner's eight and he would be 
left with the two best trumps to win the 
other two tricks required. To my utter 

astonishment, however, the dealer won his 
partner's trick with the knave, and then led the 
queen of trumps, followed by the seven ; the 
player on his left won this with the ten, and 
at once threw down the two best diamonds, 
saying as he did so, " We save the game after 
all. That is the most astounding piece of 
luck I ever saw"; but perhaps it was not 
quite so lucky as he thought. 

All the hands were thrown on the table, 
and the dealer's partner naturally went for 
him at once. " Have you gone suddenly 
mad, or what? You had actually got the 
game in your hand." 

" How so ? " asked the dealer, pretending 
not to understand, but giving me an almost 
imperceptible little wink, although I was still 
quite in the dark. Everybody began to 
explain the situation and to talk at once, and 
a perfect babel arose. The dealer had to 
encounter a storm of good-natured chaff, 

" Well, you of all people ! " " You had 
better take a few lessons," etc. 

Meanwhile the cards had been collected, 
and the other pack presented and cut for the 
next deal. Then my friend the dealer turned 
to me and said, in a low tone, so that the 
others could not hear : — 

" Did you tumble to why I did that ? " 

I said, " No, indeed I did not. I could 
only suppose that you had taken temporary 
leave of your senses." 

"There was method in my madness," he 
replied. "Come close and I will tell you. 
I don't want them to hear. I had revoked 
in clubs early in the game, and I knew that 
the only possible chance of their not spotting 
it was to raise such a discussion at the end of 
the hand that they might not think of looking 
at the last cards, and it has come off." 

It did indeed come off, and I may add 
that he eventually won the rubber, which I 
consider that he well deserved to do for his 

Just at first I was not quite sure about the 
morality of the proceeding ; but, on thinking 
it over, I could not see that he had done any- 
thing at all wrong. He was quite entitled to 
play his cards as he liked, and he threw his 
two remaining cards down on the table quite 
openly, face upwards, with no sort of attempt 
at concealment. It was just a gigantic bluff 
— and a very clever one — and it succeeded to 
perfection ; but fancy a man thinking out 
such a thing on the spur of the moment, 
and bringing it off. Don't you think that he 
well deserved to win that rubber ? 

by Google 

Original from 



|T was nearly ten o'clock when 
Clement Darnford put his latch- 
key in the lock and let him- 
self into his house. It was 
a good half-hour before the 
appointment he had made 
could possibly be kept ; but the man was 
impatient, and he felt that he could pace the 
streets no longer. When the hour arrived — 
that time for which he had been waiting for 
more than a year — he must be on the spot, 
that not a moment might be lost. Even now, 
as he handed his hat to the man-servant who 
had hurried forward on hearing his entrance, 
he asked an impatient question. 
" Is the nurse here ? " 
"Yes, sir," replied the man. "She tells 
me, sir, that everything is ready; she can 
take the young lady directly you ring, sir." 

Clement Darnford waved the man aside 
impatiently, took up his letters, and went 
off into that room which he had designed 
to be the meeting-place. So preoccupied 
was he with this one thought in his mind that 
he tossed the letters on to the table, and 
began to pace about in the fashion in which 
he had paced the streets that night. And 
while he paced his jaw hardened, and his 
eyes grew brighter and keener ; for was not 
this the end, and was not his the victory ? 

It had been a long fight for supremacy ; 
but he, the man, had won. When, twelve 
months before, his wife had gone out of 
never to return to it, 
her the child, she had 
and dishonoured man. 
Dishonoured, that is, so far as he believed ; 
for all the world was ready enough to link 
the woman's name with that of another man. 
Kate Darnford had this saving grace in her, 
at least — that the baby girl of three years had 
stood for more to her than anyone or any- 
thing else ; the child had gone with her. 

That had, in a sense, been the man's 
heaven, and out of that heaven the woman 
had unceremoniously thrust him. When first 
that other man — Victor Manning — had come 
into her life and had seemed to some extent 
to absorb her thoughts, Clement Darnford 
had quite unconsciously consoled himself 

that house, vowing 
and had taken with 
left him a broken 

by V^ 



with the child and with the thought of the 
child ; life had its compensations. Uncon- 
sciously, too, he drove the woman farther on 
that path she seemed to be treading by that 
worship of the baby ; drove her, too, to that 
business of stealing the child from him when 
she took her mad flight from the house. 

Well, it was all over now; in less than 
half an hour she was returning to this place, 
humbled by the powers with which he had 
been able to threaten her, and was bringing 
the child back to him. She was not to stay 
herself; that part of their joint lives was 
ended for ever. But it had been part of her 
punishment that he should demand that the 
child should be brought back there by her; 
and parted with in the house from which she 
had stolen it. 

And everything was prepared. The nursery 
that had gaped at him forlorn and desolate 
for more than a year was ready for the child ; 
a nurse had been engaged, and waited there 
now. To-night he would stand beside the 
little bed that had stood there empty too 
long; to-night childish fingers would close 
round his, and a little flushed face would lie 
upon the pillow ; a little sleepy voice would 
murmur to him, as it had murmured how 
many long, weary months ago ! Dear love ! 
— his heart was hungry for it all ! 

But what a fight it had been ! First, the 
difficulty of finding out where she had 
gone — a clever ruse on the part of a lawyer, 
in the shape of an advertisement, had dis- 
covered that — and then the Courts had been 
set to work. At first, flat refusal, then 
entreaties and prayers, and then another 
dramatic disappearance. After that, all the 
work to be done again ; until at last it had 
come to the point when he could tell her 
that she must come to that place that night 
and deliver up the child. And she had 
promised to come. 

The rattle of wheels outside ; the stopping 
of a vehicle. The man felt his pulses quicken 
a little as he drew himself up and waited, first 
for the ringing of the bell, and then for the 
voices in the hall ; lastly, for the opening of 
the door of the room. Why did not the child 
speak, or call out, or ask where he was ? 




The door opened at last, and with the 
announcement of her name Kate Darn ford 
entered — alone. The man waited until the 
door was closed again, and the woman stood 
looking at him with hard eyes and with a 
curious droop about the corners of her 
mouth. He thought only of the child ; he 
asked a question about her at once abruptly 
— half angrily. 

" Well, where is she ? Where's Kitty ? " 

She made a weary gesture to remove her 
cloak and sank into a chair. He noticed, as 
the cloak fell from her shoulders, that she 
was in evening dress, and that, save for that 
tired look in her face, she was as beautiful as 
ever. He seemed to notice that with quite 
other eyes than those that looked past her 
and waited for the child. 

"I'm here to tell you," she replied to 
his question. " I — I promised to come — 
didn't I?" 

" Why are you all in black ? " It was 
strange and startling ; but while the question 
stabbed the silence of the room it seemed 
also to stab the man, so that he started at his 
own words. u Why are you in black, and 
alone ? " 

She spread out her hands with a helpless 
gesture ; her mouth was twisted into a laugh 
that had a sob in it. " The child — the baby's 
dead," she said. 

It never occurred to the man for a moment 
to question her words ; the fact was stated 
and the fact remained. Her dejected attitude, 
her dress, the pathetic quivering of her lips, 
all set the seal of proof upon what she had 
stated ; the child was dead. Clement Darn- 
ford stood there, staring at her like a man 
turned to stone ; he was letting the frightful 
thing sink into his mind bit by bit, word by 
word. The child was dead. 

The first feeling in his mind had nothing 
to do with the dejected figure of the woman 
before him ; rather a great wave of self-pity 
swept over him. The house was empty and 
desolate again ; the little bed would never 
be occupied ; the nurse must go. This was 
the end of his dream ; the little figure on 
which he had set all his hopes had dropped 
out of life and simply did not exist. 

He did not cry out ; he made no wild 
demands upon her for details as to how the 
child had died, or where. The fact was 
enough, and the fact was overwhelming. It 
stunned him, but left him with a sort of con- 
sciousness that before his wife, now that it 
did not matter, he must show some calmness 
— perhaps even some indifference. 

" I'm sorry," he said at last, in a voice 

that seemed quite unlike his own. "I'm 
sorry — most of all for you. You will miss 

The woman looked up at him quickly, and 
her face hardened. The man had no heart ; 
she had proved that long ago. He could 
speak now in this calm, poljte fashion of his 
dead child ; it had only been a matter of 
pride with him to snatch the baby from her. 
All the great battle he had fought ; all the 
strong forces of the Law he had brought to 
bear to crush her into submission ; all had 
been only that he might humble her — he had 
not cared about the child. She got to her 
feet slowly, and drew her cloak about her ; 
answered his remark in a dull voice, without 
looking at him. 

" Yes, I shall miss her," she said. u You 
see, she was all I had — all I lived for. 
There's nothing else for me to say to you ; I 
can go away again." 

" You are living — alone ? " He asked the 
question with an effort. 

Her cheeks flamed ; she drew herself up. 
" As I have lived since I left this house," she 
replied, quickly, " save for the child." 

The blow had softened him a little ; from 
this night he was to be an utterly lonely man. 
11 Was it ever true, Kate, about you and that 
fellow Manning ? " he asked. 

"You did not trouble to give me the 
benefit of any doubt twelve months ago. I 
shall not tell you anything now/' she replied. 
" Good night ! " 

She went out of the room and out of the 
house; he heard the vehicle drive away 
again. So for a long time he stood in that 
house of desolation, staring stupidly at the 
door through which she had gone ; then 
something seemed to break in him, and his 
rigid attitude changed, and he dropped into 
a chair and covered his face with his hands. 

" Oh, my baby— my little child ! " he 

All the striving had ended in this. His 
empty hands grasped nothing after all. Death 
had beaten him, and this was the end. He 
was of that nature that sets everything upon 
a venture — of that great strength that turns 
to weakness when it is baffled or beaten. He 
could not bear the thought of what had 
happened to him. On the day following he 
laid that nursery waste and turned away all 
the servants, and left the house. He told 
himself that he had lived for this hope 
only ; there was now nothing in the world for 
which he cared. 

When a man is in that mood Fate takes 
him in her hands and 'works her will with 


j 1 1 1 .* 1 1 1 




him. Clement Parnford began by rambling 
uneasily abroad for a few months— a lonely, 
irritable man ; then he came back to I>ondon t 
because it suddenly occurred to him that there 
were places where the child had been, and he 
might be able the better to dream of her in 
these familiar streets than in the streets <>( 
foreign cities. Matters had gone wrong with 
him during these few months ; the world that 
a baby was to have set right had decided to 



buffet the man a little, This speculation had 
turned out badly, and that friend had played 
him false \ the very wind that blew at him in 
the streets was a more bitter wind than it ever been before. The child IFflS dead : 
perhaps, despite all that was said, death was 
best after all. The man was young in years, 
but the heart in him was old and tired. 

He roamed the streets one night, striving 
to kill time before he should go back to the 




duil and cheerless rooms in which he had 
taken up his residence. It was a bright 
night, though cold, and the people who 
joitled him on the pavement seemed for the 
most part to have attuned their moods to the 
brightness of the night. Work for the day 
was over ; these hurrying people were out for 
amusement, and were like children let loose 
from school. He pitied them a little for the 
ease with which they could laugh ; despised 
them a little more. Scarcely knowing what 
he did, or why he did it, he found himself 
presently walking into a cheap music-hall into 
which a throng of people were pressing ; put 
down some money, and was shown to a seat. 
People were laughing and chattering all about 
him, and men were smoking and drinking; he 
sat the one gloomy, silent one amongst them. 

What did these people know of sorrow 
such as his? fcoarse themselves, they had 
coarse childreri£and one more or less that 
lived or died mattered but little to them. 
They could come here, and listen to this 
raucous -voiced fool blaring out a song that 
had neither point nor wit ; if they saw any- 
thing finer it would leave them cold and un- 
touched. He closed his eyes, and wondered 
why he had come to the place. 

When he opened his eyes again the place 
was in darkness He could hear the people 
round about him whispering ; could hear the 
strains of the band. Before him on a great 
white expanse was an announcement con- 
cerning a cinematograph then about to be 
displayed. He hailed the change with a 
little sigh almost of satisfaction ; the noise 
was over for a time, and his tired eyes could 
rest a little in the semi darkness. 

There was the usual round of pictures 
depicting foreign scenes, and one or two 
carefully-arranged comic series. Then on 
the great expanse was thrown a line that 
seemed to stir those in the audience who 
understood it into sudden gleeful anticipa 
tion. Men turned in their seats, and mut- 
tered a word or two to their neighbours ; 
women laughed and sat up. The line of 
words stirred something, too, in this man. 

" Make way for the baby ! " 

The scene displayed represented a street 
crowded with traffic — carts, carriages, and 
hurrying pedestrians. Suddenly the figure of 
a policeman stepped out in full view and 
held up its hand ; then down the centre of a 
lane, with closely-packed vehicles on either 
side, came a nurse, wheeling a mail-cart in 
which sat a child, laughing and waving its 
hands straight at the audience. 

It was the dead child. As the man sat 

Digitized by LiOOQ I C 

there, gripping the back of the seat before 
him, and staring wide eyed, he saw the thing 
clearly ;* saw her coming, as it seemed, 
straight towards him. with a nurse whose face 
he remembered wheeling her down towards 
the audience. Then the picture was blotted 
out, amid cheering and laughter and the 
clapping of hands. 

Clement Darnford struggled out of the 
place into the air ; he leaned like one drunk 
against the portico , great, dry sobs shook him 
from head to foot. He had seen his beloved 
come from the grave — had seen her laughing 
and happy and waving hands to him. How 
beautiful she had been ; how even those 
common people had loved her and laughed 
with her ! He was not jealous of that, as he 
would once have been , he was only proud 
with a great pride. Even in the sorrow that 
overwhelmed him he could have cried aloud 
to the people who were now flocking out of 
the hall that that had been his baby they had 
seen— his child that had made them cheer, 
and clap their hands, and laugh at the very 
sight of her. 

He went every night to the place. For a 
week he sat there, 'suffering agonies, and 
waiting always for that one moment when 
the white line of letters flashed before his 
eyes, and he saw again the crowded street, 
and the held-up lines of traffic, and his dead 
child coming towards him. Through the 
long day, while he wandered the streets 
forlorn and wretched, he looked forward to 
those few moments each night. The shadows 
fell about him again when the shadow fell 
upon the picture. 

At last it happened that he went one night 
and sat through the whole performance, but 
he did not see the picture. There had been 
a change in the programme, and that 
particular cinematograph was gone. He 
stumbled out of the place like a man bereft ; 
he had lost her ! 

He went back into the hall and found the 
manager, and faced him with a request. It 
was hard for him to steady his voice and to 
keep back the tears from his eyes ; it was as 
though someone had stolen the actual child 
from him. Pathetically he pleaded that they 
would tell him where that particular show 
had gone. 

They were a little surprised, but very kind 
and patient ; the show had gone to a town in 
the North of England. He thanked them 
gratefully and went away ; morning saw him 
on his way to the place they had told him of. 

He knew what to do now ; the game was 
in his hands. Each night, as by a miracle, 






it was given him to see the child he loved ; 
truly God had been very good to him. The 
man was changing with the months j he was 
thin and haggard, and his eyes were un- 
naturally bright. But he was softened ; all 
the sternness had gone out of him. Mort- 
than that, his life was mapped out clearly 
now ; he had hut to follow this wherever 

3 y Google 

it went; so much was sufficient for him* 
He was constantly travelling, for it hap- 
pened sometimes that the show would be in 
one town for only three nights — sometimes 
only for one. His eager inquiries at 
different places had made him known, and 
bit by bit the story had leaked out, The 
man with the haunted face and the craving 
Original from 


1 68 


eyes sat like a ghost among the merry folk 
that crowded the places to which he went ; 
people grew to look for him, and sometimes 
to whisper the story. More than that, with 
a kindly thought for him they played softer 
music when that magic line went up, and 
when the baby rode down each night to 
meet him. 

Now it happened that Kate Darnford, who 
had never really had out of her mind the 
remembrance of the man she had loved and 
left, had begun to feel a stronger interest in 
him, for a reason he did not know. She 
wondered if, after all, she had misjudged him; 
if, by some chance, that had been but a mask 
he had worn on the night when she had told 
him that the child was dead, and he had taken 
the news so callously. While that long battle 
had been waging between them she could pit 
her strength against his in the hope for 
victory — in the hope that she might defeat 
him after all. But now the battle was over ; 
he had laid down his weapons and had left 
the field. There was nothing left for her to 
struggle against ; she began to think about 
the man — began to wonder about him. 

Finally, one day she went to the house in 
which they had both lived, only to find that 
he had gone away. The caretaker gave her 
his new address, however, and she set out to 
find him. Without giving her name she 
inquired for him of a servant she had not 
seen before, and discovered that he was out 
— he was always out in the evening, the man 
informed her. 

A curious insane jealousy began to stir in 
her. What did she know of his life, or of 
what he did, or what people he knew? 
Where did he go each night like this? On 
an impulse she determined to watch him. 
On the following night she was lucky enough 
to see him come out of the place and walk 
rapidly away. 

She was shocked at his appearance. His 
dress was careless and shabby, his face was 
lined and worn, and his hair grey. He had 
some desperate purpose stirring him, or surely 
he would never walk at this pace, looking 
neither to right nor left, and going as to a 
settled goal. She hurried along after him, 
and presently saw to her amazement that he 
turned in at the doors of a third-rate music- 
hall. Puzzled and angry, she hesitated for a 
moment, and then went in also. 

For a long time after she had taken her seat 
she failed to find him ; but at last she saw 
him sitting below her in the body of the hall, 
with his arms folded and his eyes closed. 
The performance was going on, but it was 

Digitized by GOOQ I C 

obvious that he had not come for that. She 
waited and watched, but he spoke to no 
one, and an attendant who offered him 
a programme was brushed impatiently aside. 
Still Kate Darnford waited, and watched 
the man. 

She could not, however, see him when the 
house was plunged in darkness for the cine- 
matograph ; she must perforce watch the 
stage. Then at last came the line for which 
the man watched night after night ; then the 
picture. And so she understood. 

She went to the place where he lived 
the next night, with some faint intention of 
speaking to him ; but he did not see her 
when he hurried out into the streets, and 
this time he set off in a new direction. He 
went to another hall in quite another part 
of IvOndon, and once again waited for that 
picture. When he came out of the place she 
stood among the crowd and watched him ; 
the face of the man was transfigured ; it was 
wonderful to look upon. 

She could not forget that face when, in her 
own home, she sat that night fighting a 
battle with herself; beating her hands softly 
together, and biting her lips to keep them 
from trembling. She had not understood — 
she had not understood. That he should 
have cared like this ; that he should have 
given up all else to get this glimpse of the 
shadow - child night after night ; it was 
wonderful. She fought her battle with her- 
self for what seemed a long time; at last 
she sprang to her feet, and with a great hurry 
upon her rang the bell. It was very late, 
but a servant answered the summons, and 
stood waiting. 

44 Get me a cab at once. Wake the child, 
and dress her, and have her ready." 

The woman withdrew quickly, and Kate 
Darnford put on her own hat and cloak, and 
waited impatiently until, presently, the door 
was opened, and the woman came in with 
the sleepy child encircled by one arm — the 
child of the picture, save for the difference of 
a year. 

The mother went down on her knees 
before her, and held her close for a long 
minute ; then, crooning to her as though she 
had been ill, she picked her up in her arms, 
and, with her face laid against the face of the 
child, went quickly out of the house and into 
the waiting cab. She was driven straight to 
Clement Darnford's rooms. 

He had not reached home yet, the man 
informed her ; it was his habit to arrive very 
late. The man would have barred her way, 
but she was not to be denied. She carried 




the child straight in, and laid her down on a 
couch in the inner room, and then came out 
again. It was hard, but it must be done ; 
she knew that he would be good to the 
child, and this was an end of all things for 

She was going quickly out of the room 
when Clfcment Darn ford put his key in the 
lock of the outer door and entered, The 
brightness had gone from his face now; he 
walked dejectedly, He stopped on seeing 
her, and slowly closed the door, still looking 
at her. 

u What are you doing here ? 7i he asked. 

" Nothing," she replied, lamely. Then, oh 
an impulse of tenderness, she added, quickly, 
as she stretched out a hand to him, " l r ur 
pity's sake don't be cruel to me 
any more ; you wouldn't be cruel 
if you understood 7i 

He bowed his head, and 
laughed a little bitterly in his 

•*I don't want to be 
cruel to you, Kate," he 
said, gently* "We've 
both suffered — both 
bl un dered. I — I'm 

M I've followed you for 
several nights past," she 
said at last, hesitatingly, 
" I've seen the picture." 

He looked up at her 
quickly, with his eyes shin- 
ing. " Isn't it wonderful ? " 
he exclaimed. "But you 
haven't done what I've 
done ; she's been mine 
night after night for months, 
Ive been all over England, 
following her ; I shall fol- 
low her till I die. It's all 
I've got to live for now. 
I'm glad you've seen 
her," he said, a little 

He was turning away 
listlessly when from that 
inner room came the 
sound of a voice — the 
voice of a child. She had 
been roused, and, sleepily 
as it seemed, had heard 
again the voice of the man 
who had been lost to 
her. While Clement Darn- 
ford stood there, staring 

wildly at the woman, the cry came again more 
clearly : " Daddy ! * 

Still he waited; as in a dream he seemed 
to hear the voice of his wife speaking to him ; 
it could, of course, be nothing else but a 

"I lied to you, Clem ; I was afraid you'd 
take her from me. The child's alive," 

He thrust her aside, and went into the 
other room ; it seemed as if he could never 
let the child out of his arms again. But 
when, as they clung together, he heard from 
the other room the sound of someone sob- 
bing, and then the opening and the closing 
of the outer door, he set the child down 
hurriedly, and ran out after the woman, 
calling her name. 


by Google 

Original from 


|UCH has been written about 
safes, but little has been said 
about strong - rooms. The 
reason for this is not difficult 
to seek. It is principally in 
the banks of the country 
where we find these giant rooms of steel, 
and naturally the banks themselves are not 
particularly anxious to let all and sundry 
know the secrets and strength of the devices 
which they have erected for the safeguarding 
of their bullion and treasure- Nevertheless, 
it is possible to record the history of the 

strong room, and a fascinating and romantic 
history it is. It is virtually an account of 
the continuous fight that has been going on 
between the strong-room designer and the 
burglar for the past one hundred years or 

Indeed, that struggle for supremacy is still 
being waged, and is likely to continue till the 
end of time. No sooner does the strong- 
room maker turn out something that is an 
improvement on his previous efforts than the 
burglar answers the challenge, and by calling 
science to his aid often wins. The fact that 


Prom a I 

by Google 

Frmi\ n Photo, ty ftyKm, 

Original from 



a London bank was broken mto only eighteen 
months ago and its strongroom robbed of a 
Urge quantity of gold in the dead of night by 
two burglars* who did not leave even a finger- 
print behind, would appear to be evidence of 

The strong-room had its birth scarcely 
more than one hundred years ago in the 
great oak boxes clamped with iron and pro- 
vided with formidable hasps and locks. In 
the Bank of England's museum may be seen 
the old oak chest which was the Old l^ady of 
T h r e a d n e e d 1 e 

Street's first strong- 
room. It is a little 
larger than a com- 
mon seaman's 
chest, and in this 
the Bank stored 
its cash,> and 
valuable papers. 
To-day 1 the strong- 
room is a f or mid- 
able * looking 
object, built of 
armour - plate t 
boasts of huge 
doors that weigh 
many tons, and 
represents " the 
latest skill ^nd 
science of the 
engineer and lock- 

It was not long 
before man's faith 
in the strong-boxes 
of oak was rudely 
shattered by the 
ease with which 
the burglars of 
those days opened 
them with a fine 
saw and a chisel 
Then came strong- 
rooms built of 
bricks, followed by 
still stronger re- 
ceptacles erected 

of hard Staffordshire blue bricks laid in 
cement. The openings into these chambers 
were gained through strong iron doors 
possessing heavy bolts and locks. But the 
burglar got through them. To make them 
as they thought absolutely burglar- proof, the 
vault-makers built the entire room of steel, 
the opening consisting of a double door 
having two locks, double hinges, and many 
other interesting contrivances calculated to 


THE f.:f ,11 .W' ii'E.Ah TVr-P. OF STkoNCUchjM [)0"K, shi*wini: THK 
From a Photo, fry Bjfrvn. 

daunt the most persevering thief and force 
him to admit that at last here was something 
he could not break open. Special steel plates 
were made possessing great hardness and 
toughness. This was to resist the vastly im- 
proved drills and "jemmy" of the burglar. 

The latter at once called science to his aid t 
and showed how he could attack and beat 
down the defence by a small pinch of nitro- 
glycerine ingeniously applied and carefully 
exploded. The vault maker then turned his 
attention to armour-plate and erected his 

strong - rooms of 
this material* In 
some cases the 
rooms were built 
of five layers of 
steel welded to 
gether. Yet again 
the burglar was 
successful. He 
produced a new 
cutting tool which 
did the work with 
even greater ease 
than dynamite or 
nitro -glycerine. 
Now, here was a 
problem ; the burg- 
lar had shown his 
ability to cut 
through steel plates 
with comparative 
ease, and to turn 
something out that 
is absolutely proof 
against all these 
chemical devices 
for melting and 
rutting steel was 
indeed a tough 

That some 
banks possess 
strong rooms cap 
able of defying 
burglars and even 
armed mobs would 
appear to be evi- 
dent from a glance at our photographs. Take, 
for instance, those which have been erected 
during the last few years in some of the lead- 
ing banks by the M osier Safe Company and 
the Herring Hall Marvin Safe Company, of 
which we reproduce several striking photo- 
graphs. In some instances these vaults have 
cost as much as twenty-five thousand pounds 
to erect, the doors alone, in not a few 
instances, running into a cost of four figures. 




Space does not permit of a description of 
each, but the vault at the Chemical National 
Rank of New York may be taken as the latest 
type of vault building. 

The vault is situated some forty feet below 
the level of the street. The foundation and 
walls are of masonry and concrete, and in 
the vault itself the strong room rests on a 
number of concrete piers. A narrow passage 
runs round three sides, and by an ingenious 
arrangement of mirrors the watchman passing 
along the gangway in front can see every part 

scalding the assailants, An equally remark- 
able device for immediately announcing the 
presence of an interloper and enterprising 
burglar is the tell-tale disguised tinfoil 
curtain, with which electrical wires are 
connected from the janitor's room in the 
upper part of the building. Pressure upon 
the wall of the strong-room will set the 
bells ringing and promptly announce the 
presence of would-be thieves. The door 
has no fewer than twenty-four bolts 3 arranged 
like the spokes in the hub of a wheel. 

From a Pheto. 6# Huron. 

of the back and sides, as well as the open 
niches under the safe. The safe itself, or 
rather the strong-room, weighs three hundred 
tons. The walls are composed of five layers 
of steel. The outer door ior there are two, 
as shown in the accompanying photograph — 
has a weight of six tons, is sixteen feet high, 
and twenty feet wide, the inner door being of 
proportionate dimensions. Steam pipes run 
along the passages, from which, in case of 
riot and an attack upor tlv; bank, jets of hot 
steam could play upon the strong-room, 

Digitized by Google 

It will be seen from this that the bank is 

not relying solely upon the strength of its 

strongroom, but has incorporated some 

ingenious devices for defeating would-be 

robbers. It is much the same in the great 

national banks of the world. If a mob 

overcame the guards and 4l watch clerks " at 

the Bank of ling land they could not possibly 

penetrate into the vaults, for their passage 

would be blocked by Urge reservoirs of 

water. The strong-room here is one of the 

largest in the world. .The foundation, sixty- 
Original Tram 





Frvm a / Wo. by Byron. 

six feet below street level, is a bed of concrete 
twenty feet thick, xAbove this concrete is a 
lake seven feet deep, and above that thick 
plates of iron specially manufactured to resist 
both skill and force. Anyone attempting an 
entrance from above would find a similar bed 
of concrete, a similar lake, and similar plates 
of iron. The walls are impenetrable, while 
the doors are one foot thick, weigh four tons 
each, and are made absolutely undrillable* 

It was certainly not always the case, and 
the directors' hair must have stood on end 
when, many years ago, the secretary at a 
meeting stood up and read the following 
letter which he had received : — 

To Gentlemen »fT Hank England, —Ygu think ynu 
is all safe and your bank is safe, hut I knows tatlur* 
i bin h inside the Bank tliese last 2 nites and you nose 
nuffisi lVkhii ii. But I am nott a theaf, so if yer will 
meet mee in the great squar room with all the 
tnoneiys at twelf 2 nite lie explain or I lo yer. Let 
only 2 cum aluwn, and say n tiffin to nobody* 


This letter was 
looked upon as a 
hoa\ ; but detectives 
took a rather serious 
view of it, and sta- 
tioned themselves at 
night in the large 
room beneath tne 
Bank, called the 
treasury, where the 
stock of bullion is 
kept, This f it was 
thought, was the 
room referred to. For 
a long time nothing 
unusual was heard or 
seen ; but some days 
later a heavy chest 
was received by the 
Bank authorities, 
which, on being 
opened, was found to 
contain a number of 
val uable docu ments 
which had been de- 
posited in this par- 
ticular room* With 
them came a note 
from the wife of the 
previous writer, stat- 
ing that her husband 
had discovered a 
secret way of getting 
into the strong- room, 
but would not take 
anything. He would 
not disclose it whilst 
detectives were there, 
but would give the directors one more chance, 
and would meet a few of them, if they were 
alone in the room, at midnight. 

Very uneasy in their minds, some of them 
went there accordingly at midnight. When in 
the vault a voice was heard which they could 
not locate. It stipulated that lights must be 
put out, and when this was done a man entered 
the room with a dark lantern in his hand, 
It was shown that this man had been in the 
habit of entering the sewers when the tide 
was low to see if any articles of value had 
heen washed into them, and one night he 
discovered a strange opening which led to a 
large square stone which he could remove, 
and when he had done so he found himself 
in the bank treasury. He was an honest man, 
and, as related, wrote to the directors, and to 
prove his story abstracted the chest, which he 
returned to them. He was well rewarded 
and given a pension for life. 
Original from 




Like the Bank of England, the Bank of 
France is now guarded every night by 
soldiers, who do sentry duty outside the 
building, a watch being likewise kept inside 
its precincts. But within quite recent times 
the officials at the French bank resorted to 
a very novel method for protecting their 
but! ion, This consisted in engaging masons 
to wall up the doors of the vaults in the 
cellar with hydraulic mortar as soon as the 
money was deposited each day in these 
receptacles* The water was then turned on 
and kept running until the whole cellar was 
flooded. A burglar would be obliged to 
work in a diving-suit and break down i 
cement wall before he could even begin to 
plunder the vaults. When the bank officials 
arrived next morning the water was drawn 
oflT, the masonry torn down, and the vaults 
opened* Curiously enough, within a few 
months after this obsolete manner of pro- 
tecting the bank J s cash was done away with, 
burglars did actually get 
into the vaults and decamp 
with eight thousand eight 
hundred pounds in gold 

Although the strong- 
rooms found in the banks 
in this country are not so 
elaborate as those en 
countered on the other side 
of the Atlantic, it must not 
be imagined that they are 
not suitable for the pur- 
pose for which they were 
designed. The English- 
man's love for something 
solid and not showy is 
evidenced in his strong- 
room as in other things. 
The manager of a New 
York bank will conduct 
yon to the basement and 
show you the bullion- 
room, and point out with 
pride the great circular 
door which weighs, per- 
haps, twenty tons, yet is 
so delicately balanced on 
its hinges that a child can 
move it to and fro. Not 
so your London banker ; 
but this is not because his 
strong - room is of poor 
material or design. Far 
from it, It is a solid mass 
of steel, and, under normal 
conditions, impregnable. 

Through the courtesy of a friend I was 
permitted to inspect a vault of a well known 
bank within a quarter of an hour's walk 
of the Royal Exchange. The walls were 
two feet thick, and formed of hard bricks 
laid in cement, with hasp iron worked in. 
The latter were lined throughout with steel 
plates two inches thick. There were two 
doors, the outer one of strong steel with two 
locks, and the inner one of combined iron 
and steel of extraordinary strength, with two 
locks throwing twenty bolts. Inside this 
room was a great safe, where the cash and 
securities were locked up every night. This 
safe weighed twenty five tons, and hoasted of 
twenty bolts. In the resident clerk's bed- 
room, on the second floor of the building, 
was a powerful gong. If anyone opened the 
outer door of the strong-room the gong 
would immediately go off, thus giving the 
alarm, In addition to this security a watch- 
man patrols the building, and has to pass the 

From a Ptofa. fr# Rytvn. 


by Google 




outer door of the strong-room every eighteen 
minutes and register that fact on a special 
automatic clock device. 

This may be taken as a typical example of 
a British banker's strong-room, though there 
are no doubt many others even stronger than 
the one I have described. Messrs, Milners 
particularly have had great experience in 
strong-room building, and during recent years 
have constructed a number of armour-plated 
strong rooms in 

the banks of this 
country and also 
in many of the 
banks in the 
Colonies. In- 
deed, all the great 
si! ft makers, such 
as Chatwoods, 
Ratners, etc., do 
this kind of work, 
the latter firm 
having built quite 
a number of the 
safe deposits 
found in this 
country, which 
are virtually nests 
of strong rooms. 

What banks 
fear is not so 
much a burglar 
gaining access to 
their premises hy 
forcing doors, 
but by tunnelling 
and other equally 
cunning and 
daring methods. 
A few years ago 
a cashier in one 
of the national 
banks of the 
United States, in 
New Mexico, was 
busy at svork one 
evening in the 
office when his 
quick ear detec- 
ted some curious sounds. They seemed to 
proceed From a subterranean region ; and he 
vras not long in concluding that robbers 
must be tunnelling from an adjoining build- 
ing to the vault in the bank. 

Guards were immediately posted in and 
around the building. Soon they observed 
the masonry of the bank to be giving way, 
Meantime the robbers appeared 10 be hard 
at work, and quite unaware that they were 

Digitized by OOOQ IC 

being watched. At one In the morning a 
Mexican volunteered to descend into the 
bank cellar so as to discover the actual 
situation. Scarcely had he gone a few paces 
down the stairs than he met someone 
coming up. The Mexican fired without 
saying a word, and shot the man dead. It 
was observed that he was one of the masons 
who had built the bank, and therefore was 
acquainted with its vulnerable points* The 

report of firearms 


From a Photoffraph, 

alarmed his ac- 
complices, for 
they fled, and 
escaped. The 
tunnel gave evi- 
dence of long 
and patient work 
on the part of the 
would-be thieves. 
It was sixty feet 
in length, con- 
structed on 
scientific prin- 
ciples, contained 
provisions, water, 
and a full outfit 
of mining tools, 
and must have 
been three 
months in opera- 
tion, The robbery 
appeared to be 
planned for the 
timeofthe month 
when the bank 
received large 
remittances or 
currency and 

An extraordi- 
nary and daring 
robbery was that 
which took place 
at the Central 
Biink of Western 
India, at Hong- 
Kon^, in 1865, 
when the thieves 
succeeded in getting clear off with gold 
and specie to the value of nearly fifty 
thousand pounds. The robbers must have 
been at work for some weeks before they 
entered the bank's treasury* Their principal 
labour was the construction of a tunnel 
sixty feet in length from an adjacent drain to 
a spot exactly below the floor of the bank's 
treasury-vault. A perpendicular shaft of ten 
feet of sufficient diameter was then made to 




permit of the passage of one man to reach 
the granite boulders on which the floor of 
the vault rested. These gave way through 
being undermined, and, a block being 
forced up, entrance to the vault was at once 
obtained. Two boxes were removed con- 
taining gold bars or ingots marked with the 
bank , s stamp, as well as all the paper money, 
some boxes of dollars, and a box of ten-cent 

No fewer than between twenty and thirty 
men were arrested on suspicion. One of 
them had six thousand dollars in his pos- 
session and two bars of gold bearing the 
bank's mark. The robbery was effected 
between a Saturday and a Sunday ; and the 
first thing that raised suspicion was the fact 
of a little boy trying to sell a bar of gold to a 
hawker in one of the bazaars of Hong-Kong. 
A gentleman who was passing asked where he 
got the gold, and the boy replied that it had 
been found at a certain place. He gave the 
youth what he asked for it — namely, a dollar 
— and then informed the police. 

Some years ago an equally daring robbery 
took place at the late Cape of Good Hope 
Bank, at Kimberley. One Sunday morning 
the manager of this bank opened his cash 
safe to get a parcel of diamonds which were 
in his custody, when he found several 
loose bags of money lying about the strong- 
room floor. This rather puzzled him ; but 
on looking around he spied an opening in 
the wall of the room, and came to the con- 
clusion that a burglar had been at work. 
The police were applied to ; and they 
found that the opening in the wall com- 
municated with a large street drain in the 
vicinity. The total sum abstracted from the 
bank was about four thousand pounds ; but, 
on the drain being explored, about fifteen 
bags of silver, of the value of a hundred 
pounds each, were recovered. 

Messrs. Chubbs sent a representative to 
South Africa to investigate the scene of the 
robbery. He found the bank vault was built 
of masonry and was considered to be the 
strongest in South Africa. The walls of the 
room were three feet thick, and to get to 
these walls the burglars had first to penetrate 
through an outer wall four feet thick, and 
through three foundation walls each two feet 
thick, all these walls being constructed of 
solid cement and brickwork. There was 
also about twenty feet of earth to tunnel 
through, and the hole could not be made in 
a direct line, but had to be constructed with 
various turns, so as to enable the burglars 
with miners' tools to get through the softest 

places. The large drain opened out into the 
street. It was believed that a large retriever 
dog helped in the robbery, as it was seen to 
run out of the culvert with something hang- 
ing round its neck. Two men chased the 
animal for some distance, but the dog 

Coming to more recent times we have the 
instance of burglars succeeding in effecting 
an entrance into the strong-room of a bank 
in St. James's Street, in the West-end of 
London. To accomplish this feat they cut 
their way through a two-foot wall. This 
happened, too, so recently as May, 1906. 
Five years ago a man broke into the strong- 
room of the Selby Smelting Works, at San 
Francisco, by tunnelling. He carried off 
thirty-seven bars of gold, all of which were 
subsequently recovered and the man appre- 
hended and sentenced to fifteen years' im- 
prisonment. In a like manner — namely, by 
tunnelling — a large insurance company in 
Massachusetts had its strong-room burgled 
and five thousand pounds in cash and dollar 
bills stolen. 

During the Civil War in America bank 
robberies were so frequent that the banks 
refused to take care of their customers' 
valuables. One of these institutions referred 
its clients to its porter as willing to accept 
the risk. For a small sum he took charge 
of the boxes and safes, and made a fortune 
by doing it, and this suggested the safe 
deposit companies, which at first erected very 
ordinary buildings, with glass windows, from 
which the armed guard could be seen 
patrolling night and day. To-day the safe 
deposit is acknowledged as a requisite 
institution which a civilized community could 
not do withoot. Quite a number have 
sprung into existence in London during 
the last decade, as well as in all the 
provincial towns. 

The pioneer of these institutions in this 
country was the National Safe Deposit 
Company, situated in Queen Victoria Street, 
and within a stone's throw of the Bank of 
England. It is a veritable fortress of steel, 
built at a cost of two hundred and fifty 
thousand pounds, and undoubtedly one of 
the strongest repositories in the world. In 
all, there are thirty-two great vaults arranged 
in four tiers and closed by massive iron doors 
twelve inches thick, and each weighing 
between four and five tons. 

These doors possess no locks and are 
simply a solid, undrillable mass of thick 
steel. They are operated in an ingenious 
way — namely, by hydraulic power. To close 

U 1 1 I U I I I .' I I 




them it is necessary for four officers of the 
company holding different positions to be at 
their post, and once the doors are closed 
there is no power on earth that can move 
them until the proper machinery is brought 
into action. As a further precaution there is 
above the top of the external building a tank 
containing fifty thousand gall una of water. 
When the hydraulic machinery has finished 
its work for the night and closed the doors 
the mechanism 
is, by an ingeni- 
ous device j dis- 
connected. Any- 
one attempting 
to connect it 
would release 
the water in the 
tank at the top 
of the building, 
with the result 
that the whole 
place, from ceil- 
ing to floor, 
would be in- 
stantly flooded 
with water, yet 
the vaults and 
strong - rooms 
would remain 
perfectly dry. 
One should not 
forget to add, 
perhaps, that the 
building is also 
patrolled at 
night by armed 

In the safes 
and strong- 
rooms of this 
famous reposi- 
tory, which even 


Fruma] may deposit vai. cables* [rhutuoraph. 

an earthquake 
could not shake 
unless it swal- 
lowed it bodily, millions of pounds sterling of 
securities and valuables are stored by the 
renters of the numerous receptacles. During 
the late Russo-Japanese War, noblemen from 
Russia came to London and stored their 
valuables in this stronghold, knowing that 
here they would be safe. On the company's 
books there are hundreds of titled names, and 
in the safes there are deeds and documents 
that are practically invaluable. 

One of the best- known, perhaps, of latter- 
day safe deposits is the one situated in 
Chancery Lane. Here, in a casing of con- 

Digitized by VjiOOglC 

crete, iron, and steel, are some forty thousand 
safes, strong- rooms, and strongholds. It was 
in this deposit that time-locks were first used 
in this country. On some doors there are 
two clocks, and on others as many as three 
and even four. When the door is closed the 
apparatus is set to a predetermined time, and 
until that hour elapses it is impossible to 
open the door. The reason why a number 
of timepieces are used is because, should one 

fail, the other or 
others would 
act, and one 
clock is sufficient 
to release the 
mechanism to 
unbolt the door 
at the expired 
time. At six 
o'clock at night 
the two- ton 
doors to the 
vaults are closed > 
and the mechan- 
ism set for nine 
o'clock next 
morning. It is 
impossible dur- 
ing the inter- 
vening hours to 
open the vault, 
even with the 
right key. In 
the same way the 
clocks are set 
from one o'clock 
on Saturday 
afternoon to ex- 
pire at nine 
o'clock Monday 
One could 
write at great 

length on the 
romance of the 
safe deposit. 
When I visited the Chancery Lane Deposit 
I was pointed out one room that contained 
thirty million pounds' worth of securities. The 
next strong room contained a valuable collec- 
tion of hooks. There were scores of them, and 
the owner declares that they are so rare and 
valuable that if put up for auction to morrow 
they would fetch two thousand pounds apiece. 
Some of the strong-rooms are put to curious 
uses. For instance, a lady renter pays a 
hundred guineas a year for a giant house of 
steel for storing old china, She has collected 
her treasures from all Darts of the world, and 


1 7 8 


the attendant informed me that there were 
some lovely things behind the closed steel 
door. Several titled and wealthy renters 
store their plate in the vaults at Chancery 
Lane. When they give a grand dinner 
they remove the plate from the strong-room, 
and as soon as the dinner is over it is sent 
back again to the vault. Another room 
contains paintings valued at one hundred 
thousand pounds, and in yet another there are 
some magnificent examples of tapestry-work 
which could not be duplicated for fifty 
thousand pounds. During the trial of the 
missing-word competition thirteen sackfuls of 
postal orders were stored in one of the safes. 
Some of the strong-rooms weigh five hundred 
tons, and are fitted with doors that turn the 
scale at two tons apiece. Some renters have 
had special doors made to their rooms, and 
have had combination locks fitted to them. 

This lock is very much favoured by our 
American cousins, and in some of them as 
many as one hundred million combinations 
may be used. The latest combination lock 
consists of four sets of twenty-four letters of 
the alphabet, which can be set to a sentence 
in most modern languages. When one letter 
is used in one alphabet, and another in the 
second set, and so on, it becomes a very 
complicated matter to detect the combination. 
Then there is the initial problem of what 
language it has been keyed in, to be solved 
by the man who attempts to open the safe. 
Indeed, it would take thousands of years to 
work out the whole of the combinations that 
can be used with these locks. A little while 
ago at Chancery Lane a renter forgot his 
combination, and it took the makers a whole 
week to get the door down. 

Another popular London safe deposit is 
that to be found at Harrod's Stores. One is 
not surprised to learn that it is well patronized 
by ladies. The fact that it is in the very centre 
of the establishment lends additional safety 
to its users, for the would-be thief has no 
means of knowing whether a renter leaving 
the building has come away with an ordinary 
purchase of no particular value or a diamond 
necklace from the safe deposit. Then the 
deposit itself is built of concrete and steel, 
and is absolutely fire-proof, and, for that 
matter, burglar-proof. If the whole building 
was burned down the safe deposit would 
remain absolutely intact. The entrance is 
gained through a three-ton door fitted with 
time-locks, capable of operating from one 
hour to three days. 

Passing the grille one emerges into the 
manager's office, and is virtually surrounded 

Digitized by (^OOgle 

by large and small safes containing priceless 
treasures. Undoubtedly, there are many 
valuable jewels in this deposit. In one safe, 
rented by the sister of a foreign monarch, 
there is a magnificent collection of pearls. 
Another lady renter rigidly locks up in her 
safe a costly diamond tiara presented to her 
by the City Corporation. She only removes 
it to wear on special occasions. She brings 
it back next morning done up like an ordinary 
parcel, to deposit it 'again until the next festive 

Anyone, of course, can hire the safes in 
the various safe deposits by paying the 
necessary rent, and it is not surprising to 
learn that occasionally persons of a more or 
less suspicious character do so. "A well- 
dressed gentleman came here," said the 
manager of one safe deposit to the writer, 
"a little while ago, and rented one of our 
biggest strong-rooms. He was an American, 
and as pleasant- mannered a fellow as you 
could meet. He did not come often, per- 
haps once a month, but on one occasion he 
came in very flurried and anxious, but with- 
out his key. When he had gone a Scotland 
Yard ;r.:a came and made a few inquiries 
about him, and waited to see if he would 
return, but he did not. He came next day, 
however, with the detective at his heels, and 
was politely but firmly asked to give up his 
key and remain in the private room while 
the detective and an attendant examined the 
contents of his safe. It was full of valuable 
jewels which had been stolen from New York." 

Before now people have been shut in 
strong-rooms and have had narrow escapes. 
On one occasion a locksmith was repairing 
an interior safe in a strong-room of a New 
York bank when the cashier closed the vault 
door. As it was worked by a time-lock it 
meant that the door would remain closed 
until the following -morning. Fortunately the 
man knew the secrets of his stronghold, and 
by opening a manhole was able to obtain a 
sufficient supply of air. He then made a 
pillow of a bag of dollar bills and composed 
himself to sleep until the door was opened 
next morning. A clerk in a London bank, 
who was locked in a strong-room some few 
years ago, was by no means so fortunate. 
He was brought out at midnight in an uncon- 
scious condition. He owed his life to his wife, 
who, finding his hat and coat at the office, 
divined that he must be in the building, and 
the only place they could not search was the 
strong-room. The manager was sent for and 
the door opened, and the poor man discovered 
almost lifeless on the floor of the vault. 




round his studio before he 
blew out the candle, and 
wondered whether, perhaps, 
he looked for the last time. 
It was large and empty, yet 
his trouble had filled it and, pressing against 
him in th£ prison of those four walls, forced 
him out into the' world, where lights and 
voices and the presence of other men should 
give him room to draw back, to set a space 
between it and him, to decide whether he 
would ever face it again— he and it alone 
together. The nature of his trouble is not 
germane to this story. There was a woman 
in it, of course, and money, and a friend, 
and regrets and embarrassments — and all of 
these reached out tendrils that wove and 
interwove till they made a puzzle problem of 
which heart and brain were now weary. 

He blew out the candle and went quietly 
downstairs. It was nine at night, a soft night 
of May in Paris. Where should he go ? He 
thought of the Seine, and took — an omnibus. 
When at last it stopped he got off, and so 
strange was the place to him that it almost 
seemed as though the trouble itself had been 
left behind. He did not feel it in the length 
of three or four streets that he traversed 
slowly. But in the open space, very light and 
lively, where he recognised the Taverne de 
Paris and knew himself in Montmartre, the 
trouble set its teeth in his heart again, and 
he broke away from the lamps and the talk 
to struggle with it in the dark, quiet streets 

A man braced for such a fight has little 
thought to spare for the details of his sur- 
roundings. The next thing that Wroxham 
knew of the outside world was the fact which 
he had known for some time that he was not 
alone in the street. There was someone on 
the other side of the road keeping pace with 
him — yes, certainly keeping pace, for, as he 
slackened his own, the feet on the other 
pavement also went more slowly. And now 
they were four feet, not two. Where had 
the other man sprung from? He had not 
been there a moment ago. And now, from 
an archway a little ahead of him, a third man 

Copyright, 1908, by 


Wroxham stopped. Then three men 
converged upon him, and, like a sudden 
magic-lantern picture on a sheet prepared, 
there came to him all that he had heard and 
read of Montmartre — dark archways, knives, 
Apaches, and men who went away from 
homes where they were beloved and never 
again returned. He, too — well, if he never 
returned again, it would be quicker than the 
Seine, and, in the event of ultramundane 
possibilities, safer. 

He stood still and laughed in the face of 
the man who first reached him. 

" Well, my friend ? " said he ; and at that 
the other two drew close. 

" Monsieur walks late," said the first, a 
little confused, as it seemed, by that laugh. 

" And will walk still later if it pleases 
him," said Roger. " Good night, my friends." 

" Ah ! " said the second, " friends do not 
say adieu so quickly. Monsieur will tell us 
the hour." 

" I have not a watch," said Roger, quite 

" I will assist you to search for it," said the 
third man, and laid a hand on his arm. 

Roger threw it off. The man with the 
hand staggered back. 

" The knife searches more surely," said the 

" No, no," said the third, quickly ; " he is 
too heavy. I for one will not carry him 

They closed round him, hustling him 
between them. Their pale, degenerate faces 
spun and swung round him in the struggle. 
For there was a struggle. He had not meant 
that there should be a struggle. Someone 
would hear— someone would come. 

But if any heard none came. The street 
retained its empty silence; the houses, masked 
in close shutters, kept their reserve. The 
four were wrestling, all pressed close together 
in a writhing bunch, drawing breath hardly 
through set teeth, their feet slipping and not 
slipping on the rounded cobble-stones. 

It was then that Roger felt the knife. Its 
point glanced off the cigarette-case in his 
breast pocket and bit sharply at his inner 
arm. And at the sting of it Roger knew, 
suddenly and quite surely, that he did not 
desire to die. He feigned a reeling weakness, 

E. Nesbit-Blaivi, . r 

Original from 

i So 


relaxed his grip, swayed sideways, and then 
suddenly caught the other two in a new 
grip, crushed their faces together, flung 
.them off, and ran. It was but for an 
instant that his feet were the 
only ones that echoed in the 
street. Then he knew that 
the others too were running. 
Ho ran more swiftly— he was 

after him, felt madly for a lock or bolt, found 
a key, and, hanging his whole weight on it, 
managed to get the door home and turned 
the key. Then someone cursed breathlessly 


running now for his life — the life that he had 
held so cheap three minutes before, And all 
the streets were empty — empty like dream- 
streets, with all their windows dark and un- 
helpful, their doors fast closed against his 
need. Only now and again he glanced to 
right or left, if perchance some window might 
show light to justify a cry for help, some door 
advance the welcome of an open inch. 

There was at last such a door. He did 
not see it till it was almost behind him. 
Then there was the drag of the sudden stop — 
the eternal instant of indecision. Was there 
time? There must be. He dashed his 
fingers through the inch -crack, grazing the 
backs of them, leapt within, drew the door 

Digitized b/ GOOglC 

outside ; there was the sound of feet that 
went away. 

He found himself listening, listening, and 
there was nothing to hear but the silence, and 
once, before he thought to twist his handker- 
chief round it, thedrip of blood from his hand. 

By and by he knew that he was not 
alone in this house, for from far away 
there came the faint sound of a footstep, 
and, quite near, the faint answering echo of 
it. And at a window high up on the other 
side of the courtyard a light showed- light 
and sound and echo intensified, the light 
passing window after window, till at last it 
moved across the courtyard and the little 
trees threw black shifting shadows as it 




came towards him- — a lamp in the hand of 
a man. 

It was a short, bald man, with pointed 
beard and bright, friendly eyes. He held the 
lamp high as he came, and when he saw 
Roger he drew his breath in an inspiration 
that spoke of surprise, sympathy, pity. 

"Hold! hold! 71 he said, in a singularly 
pleasant voice ; "there has been a mis- 
fortune? You are wounded, monsieur ?" 

"Apaches," said Roger, and was surprised 
at the weakness of his own voice. 

"Fortunately," said the other, "I am a 
surgeon. Allow me." 

He set the lamp on the step of a closed 
door, took off Roger's coat, and quickly tied 
his own handkerchief round the wounded 

"Now," he said, "courage! I am alone 
in the house* No one comes here but me. 
If you can walk up to my rooms you will 
save us both much trouble- If you cannot, 
sit here and I will fetch you a cordial But 
I advise you to try to walk, That porte 
cocherc is, unfortunately, not very strong, and 
the lock is a common spring lock, and your 

friends may return with their friends ; whereas 
the door across the courtyard is heavy, and 
the bolts are new." 

Roger moved towards the heavy door 
whose bolts were new. The stairs seemed 
to go on for ever. The doctor lent his arm, 
but the carved banisters and their lively 
shadows whirled before Roger's eyes. Also 
he seemed to be shod with lead, and to have 
in his legs bones that were red-hot Then 
the stairs ceased, and there was light, and a 
cessation of the dragging of those leaden 
feet. He was on a couch, and his ej f es 
might close. 

When next he saw and heard he was lying 
at ease, the close intimacy of a bandage 
clasping his arm, and in his mouth the vivid 
taste of some cordial. 

The doctor was sitting in an arm chair 
near a table, looking benevolent through 
go Id -rimmed pince nez. 

44 Better ? " he said. l< No ; lie still, you'll 
be a new man soon." 

bt I am desolated/' said Roger, "to have 
occasioned you all this trouble." 

" In a big house like this," said the doctor, 

Voh xxxy.— 25. 


by GoOgJC 

'THP QOCTOh WAS FITTING lif A tf ABM*CHAt& **BA* A -.^"frr i|T| 




as it seemed a little sadly, " there are many 
empty rooms, and some rooms which are not 
empty. There is a bed altogether at your 
service, monsieur, and I counsel you not to 
delay in seeking it. You can walk ? " 

Wroxham stood up. " VVhy, yes," he said, 
stretching himself. " I feel, as you say, a 
new man." 

A narrow bed and rush-bottomed chair 
showed like doll's - house furniture in the 
large, high, gaunt room to which the doctor 
led him. 

" You are too tired to undress yourself," 
said the doctor ; " rest — only rest," and 
covered him with a rug, snugly tucked him 
up, and left him. 

" I leave the door open," he said, " in 
case you should have any fever. Good 
night. Do not torment yourself. All goes 

Then he took away the lamp, and Wroxham 
lay on his back and saw the shadows of the 
window-frames cast by the street lamps on 
the high ceiling. His eyes, growing accus- 
tomed to the darkness, perceived the carving 
of the white panelled walls and mantelpiece. 
There was a door in the room, another door 
than the one which the doctor had left open. 
Roger did not like open doors. The other 
door, however, was closed. He wondered 
where it led, and whether it were locked. 
Presently he got up to see. It was locked. 
He lay down again. 

His arm gave him no pain, and the 
night's adventure did not seem to have over- 
set his nerves. He felt, on the contrary, 
calm, confident, extraordinarily at ease, and 
master of himself. The trouble — how could 
that ever have seemed important ? This 
calmness — it felt like the calmness that 
precedes sleep. Yet Sleep was far from him. 
What was it that kept sleep away ? The bed 
was comfortable — the pillows soft. What 
was it ? It came to him presently that it was 
the scent which distracted him, worrying him 
with a memory that he could not define. A 
faint scent of — what was it? Perfumery? 
Yes — and camphor— ^and something else- 
something vaguely disquieting. He had 
not noticed it before he had risen and 
tried the handle of that other door. But 

now He covered his face with the 

sheet, but through the sheet he smelt it still. 
He rose and threw back one of the long 
French windows. It opened with a click 
and a jar, and he looked across the dark well 
of the courtyard. He leaned out, breathing 
the chill pure air of the May night, but when 
he withdrew his head the scent was there 


again. Camphor— perfume — and something 
else. What was it that it reminded him of? 

He stood up and went, with carefully- 
controlled swiftness, towards the open door. 
He wanted light and a human voice. The 
doctor was in the room upstairs ; he 

The doctor was face to face with him on 
the landing, not a yard away, moving towards 
him quietly in shoeless feet. 

" I can't sleep," said Wroxham, a little 
wildly ; " it's too dark and " 

"Come upstairs," said the doctor, and 
Wroxham went. 

There was comfort in the large, lighted 
room. A green shaded lamp stood on the 

"What's behind that door," said Wroxham, 
abruptly — " that door downstairs ? " 

" Specimens," the doctor answered ; " pre- 
served specimens. My line is physiological 
research. You understand ? " 

So that was it. 

"I feel quite well, you know," said 
Wroxham, laboriously explaining — " fit as 
any man — only I can't sleep. " 

" I see," said the doctor. 

"It's the scent from your specimens, I 
think," Wroxham went on; "there's something 
about that scent " 

" Yes," said the doctor. 

" It's very odd." Wroxham was leaning his 
elbow on his knee and his chin on his hand. 

"I feel so frightfully well— and yet 

There's a strange feeling " 

11 Yes," said the doctor. " Yes, tell me 
exactly how you feel." 

" I feel," said Wroxham, slowly, " like a 
man on the crest of a wave." 

The doctor stood up. 

" You feel well, happy, full of life and 
energy — as though you could walk to the 
world's end, and yet " 

" And yet," said Roger, " as though my 
next step might be my last — as though I 
might step into a grave." 

He shuddered. 

" Do you," asked the doctor, anxiously — 
" do you feel thrills of pleasure — something 
like the first waves of chloroform — thrills 
running from your hair to your feet ? " 

"I felt all that," said Roger, slowly, 
"downstairs before I opened the window." 

The doctor looked at his watch, frowned, 
and got up quickly. "There is very little 
time," he said. 

Suddenly Roger felt an unexplained thrill 
of pain. 

The doctor went to a long laboratory bench 
with bottle-filled shelves above it, and on it 




crucibles and retorts, test tubes, beakers — all 
a chemist's apparatus — reached a bottle from 
a shelf, and measured out certain drops into 
a graduated glass, added water, and stirred 
it wiih a glass rod* 

4t Drink that," he said. 

" You may be giving rne poison," Roger 
gasped, his hands 
at his heart* 

" I may," said 
1 he doctor. "What 
do you suppose 
poison makes you 
feel like? What 
do you feel like 
now ? " 

"I feel," said 
Roge r , "like 

Every nerve, 
every muscle 
thrilled to a pain 
not too intense lo 
be underlined by 
a shuddering 

l< Like death," 
he said again. 

"Then drink/ 1 
cried the doctor, in 
tones of such cor- 
dial entreaty, such 
evident anxiety, 
that Wroxham half 
held his hand out 
for the glass* 
" Drink ! Believe 
me, it is your only 

Again the pain 
swept through him 
like an electric cur- 
rent. The beads 
of sweat sprang out 
on his forehead, 

"That wound," 
the doctor pleaded, 

standing over him with the glass held out 
** For Heaven's sake, drink ! Don't you 
understand, man ? You are poisoned. Your 
wound " 

"The knife?" Wroxham murmured, and 
as he spoke his eyes seemed to swell in his 
head, and his head itself to grow enormous* 
"Do you know the poison — and its antidote?" 

" I know all." The doctor soothed him, 
41 Drink, then, my friend." 

As the pain caught him again in a clasp 
more close than any lover's he clutched at the 

Digitized by GoOgJC 


glass and drank. The drug met the pain and 
mastered it. Roger, in the ecstasy of pain's 
cessation, saw the world fade and go out in a 
haze of vivid violet, 


Faint films of lassitude shot with content- 

ment wrapped him 
round. He lay 
passive as a man 
lies in the con- 
valescence that fol- 
lows a long fight 
with Death. 

"I'm better 
now, jJ he said, in 
a voice that was a 
whisper — tried to 
raise his hand from 
where it lay help- 
less in his sight, 
failed, and lay look- 
ing at it in confi- 
dent repose — 
" much better-" 

"Yes/ 7 said the 
doctor, and his 
pleasant, soft voice 
had grown softer, 
pleasanter, " You 
are now in the 
second stage. An 
interval is neces- 
sary before you can 
pass to the third. 
I will enliven the 
interval by conver- 
sation. Is there 
anything you would 
like to know ? " 

" Nothing/' said 
Roger; "i am 
t|uiteliappy — quite 

11 This is very 
rofs into a graduated glass*" interesting " said 

the doctor! "Tell 
me exactly how you feel" 

Roger faintly and slowly told him, 

•*Ahl M the doctor said, "I have not before 
heard this, You are the only one of them 
all who ever passed the first stage. The 

"The others? 11 said Roger, but he did not 
care much about the others, 

" I he others/' said the doctor, frowning, 
"were unsound. Decadent students, de- 
generate Apaches, You are highly trained — 

in fine physical condition. And your brain 1 


1 84 


The Lord be good to the Apaches who 
so delicately excited it to just the degree of 
activity needed for my purpose." 

" The others ? " Wroxham insisted. 

" The others ? They are in the room 
whose door was locked. Look — you should 
be able to see them. The second drug 
should lay your consciousness before me like 
a sheet of white paper on which I can write 
what I choose. If I choose that you should 

see my specimens Allons done. I have 

no secrets from you now. Look — look — 
strain your eyes. In theory I know all that 
you can do and feel and see in this second 

stage. But practically Enlighten me 

— look — shut your eyes and look ! " 

Roger closed his eyes and looked. He 
saw the gaunt, uncarpeted staircase, the open 
doors of the big rooms, passed to the locked 
door, and it opened at his touch. The room 
inside was, like the other, spacious and 
panelled. A lighted lamp with a blue shade 
hung from the ceiling, and below it an effect 
of spread whiteness. Roger looked. There 
were things to be seen. 

With a shudder he opened his eyes on the 
doctor's delightful room, the doctor's intent 

"What did you see?" the doctor asked. 
"Tell me!" 

"Did you kill them all?" Roger asked 

" They died — of their own inherent weak- 
ness," the doctor said. "And you saw them?" 

"I saw," said Roger, "the quiet people 
lying all along the floor in their death clothes 
— the people who have come in at that door 
of yours that is a trap — for robbery, or 
curiosity, or shelter — and never gone out any 

" Right," said the doctor. " Right. My 
theory is proved at every point. You 
can see what I choose you to see. Yes ; 
decadents all. It was in embalming that I 
was a specialist before I began these other 

" What," Roger whispered—" what is it 
all for?" 

"To make the superman," said the doctor. 
" I will tell you." 

He told. It was a long story — the story of 
a man's life, a man's work, a man's dreams, 
hopes, ambitions. 

"The secret of life," the doctor ended. 
"That is what all the alchemists sought 
They sought it where Fate pleased. I 
sought it where I have found it — in death." 

" And the secret is ? " asked Roger. 

" I have told you," said the doctor, im- 

by L^OOgle 

patiently ; " it is in the third drug that life — 
splendid, superhuman life — is found. I have 
tried it on animals. 'Always they became 
perfect, all that an animal should be. And 
more, too — much more. They were' too per- 
fect, too near humanity. They looked at me 
with human eyes. I could not let them live. 
Such animals it is not necessary to embalm. 
I had a laboratory in those days— and 
assistants. They called me the Prince of 
Vivi sectors." 

The man on the sofa shuddered. 

" What is the third drug ? " Roger asked, 
lying limp and flat on his couch. 

" It is the Elixir of Life," said the doctor. 
" I am not its discoverer ; the old alchemists 
knew it well, but they failed because they 
sought to apply the elixir to a normal — that 
is, a diseased and faulty — body. I knew 
better. One must have first a body abnor- 
mally healthy, abnormally strong. Then, 
not the elixir, but the two drugs that pre- 
pare. The first excites prematurely the 
natural conflict between the principles of life 
and death, and then, just at the point where 
Death is about to win his victory, the second 
drug intensifies life so that it conquers — 
intensifies, and yet chastens. Then the 
whole life of the subject, risen to an ecstasy, 
falls prone in an almost voluntary submission 
to the coming super-life. Submission — sub- 
mission ! The garrison must surrender before 
the splendid conqueror can enter and make 
the citadel his own. Do you understand? 
Do you submit ? " 

"I submit," said Roger, for, indeed, he 
did. "But — soon— quite soon— I will not 

He was too weak to be wise, or those 
words had remained unspoken. 

The doctor sprang to his feet, 

" It works too quickly ! " he cried. 
" Everything works too quickly with you. 
Your condition is too perfect. So now I 
bind you." 

From a drawer beneath the bench where 
the bottles gleamed the doctor drew rolls of 
bandages — violet, like the haze that had 
drowned, at the urgence of the second drug, 
the consciousness of Roger. He moved, 
faintly resistant, on his couch. The doctor's 
hands, most gently, most irresistibly, con- 
trolled his movement. 

" Lie still," said the gentle, charming voice. 
" Lie still ; all is well." The clever, soft 
hands were unrolling the bandages — passing 
them round arms and throat — under and over 
the soft narrow couch. " I cannot risk your 
life, my poor boy. The least movement of 
Original from 




yours might ruin everything. The third drug, 
like the first, must be offered directly to the 
blood which absorbs it. I bound the first 
drug as an unguent upon your knife- wound. 1 

The swift hands passed the soft bandages 
back and forth, over and under —flashes of 
violet passed to and fro in the air like the 
shuttle of a weaver through his warp- As 
the bandage clasped his knees Roger moved 

14 For Heaven's sake, no ! 1p the doctor 
cried \ "the time is so near. If you cease 
to submit it is death," 

With an incredible accelerated swiftness 
he swept the bandages round and round 
knees and ankles, drew a deep breath — stood 

"I must make an incision/' he said— ifc in 
the head this time It will not hurt, See ! 
I spiay it with the Constant ia Nepenthe ; 
that also 1 discovered. My boy, in a moment 
you know all things— you are as a god. Be 
patient. Preserve your submission/' 

Roger did not feel the knife that made the 
cross cut on his temple, but he felt the hot 
spurt of blood that followed the cut; he 
felt the cool flap of a piaster spread with some 
sweet, clean smelling unguent that met the 
blood and stanched it. There was a moment 
— or was it hours?— of nothingness. Then 
from that cut on his forehead there seemed 
to radiate threads of 
infinite length, and of 
a strength that one 
could trust to — 
threads that linked 
one to ail knowledge 
past and present. He 
felt that he controlled 
all wisdom, as a driver 
controls his four-in- 
hand. Knowledge, he 
perceived, belonged to 
him, as the air belongs 
to the eagle. He swam 
in it, as a great fish in 
a limitless ocean. 

He opened bis eyes 
and met those of the 
doctor, who sighed as 
one to whom breath 
has grown difficult, 

"Ah, all goes well. 
Oh, my boy, was it not 
worth it ? What do 
you feel ? " 

" L Know. Every- 
thing," said Roger, 
with full stops between 
the words, 


" Everything ? The future ? " 

u No. I know all that man has ever 
known/ 1 

w Look back — into the past. See someone. 
See Pharaoh. You see him —on his throne ? " 

" Not on his throne He is whispering in 
a corner of his great gardens to a girl who is 
the daughter of a water-carrier. " 

" Bah 1 Any poet of my dozen decadents 
who lie so still could have told me that. 
Tell me secrets— the Masque dt Fer" 

The other told a tale, wild and incredible, 
but it satisfied the listener. 

14 That too— it might be imagination. 
Tell me the name of the woman I loved 
and ■ 

The echo of the name of the anaesthetic 
came to Roger, and " Constant ia," said he, 
in an even voice. 

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Original from 

1 86 


"Ah!" the doctor cried, "now I see you 
know all things. It was not murder. I 
hoped to dower her with all the splendours 
of the super-life." 

" Her bones lie under the lilacs, where 
you used to kiss her in the spring," said 
Roger, quite without knowing what it was 
that he was going to say. 

"It is enough," the doctor cried. He 
sprang up, ranged certain bottles and glasses 
on a table convenient to his chair. "You 
know all things. It was not a dream, this, 
the dream of my life. It is true. It is a fact 
accomplished. Now I, too, will know all 
things. I will be as the gods." 

He sought among leather cases on a far 
table and came back swiftly into the circle of 
light that lay below the green-shaded lamp. 

Roger, floating contentedly on the new 
sea of knowledge that seemed to support him, 
turned eyes on the trouble that had driven him 
out of that large, empty studio so long ago, so 
far away. His new-found wisdom laughed 
at that problem, laughed and solved it " To 
end that trouble I must do so and-so, say 
such-and-such," Roger told himself again 
and again. 

And now the doctor, standing by the table, 
laid on it his pale, plump hand outspread. 
He drew a knife from a case — a long, shiny 
knife — and scored his hand across and across 
its back, as a cook scores pork for cooking. 
The slow blood followed the cuts in beads 
and lines. 

Into the cuts he dropped a green liquid 
from a little bottle, replaced its stopper, 
bound up his hand, and sat down. 

"The beginning of the first stage," he 
said; "almost at once I shall begin to be a 
new man. It will work quickly. My body, 
like yours, is sane and healthy." 

There was a long silence. 

" Oh, but this is good," the doctor broke 
it to say. " I feel the hand of Life sweeping 
my nerves like harp-strings." 

Roger had been thinking, the old common 
sense that guides an ordinary man breaking 
through this consciousness of illimitable 
wisdom. "You had better," he said, "un- 
bind me ; when the hand of Death sweeps 
your nerves you may need help." 

" No," the doctor said, and no, and no, and 
no many times. " I am afraid of you. You 
know all things, and even in your body you 
are stronger than I." 

And then suddenly and irresistibly the pain 
caught him. Roger saw his face contorted 
with agony, his hands clench on the arm of 
his chair ; and it seemed that either this man 

by L^OOgle 

was less able to bear pain than he, or that 
the pain was much more violent than had 
been his own. And the plump, pale hand, 
writhing and distorted by anguish, again and 
again drew near to take the glass that stood 
ready on the table, and with convulsive self- 
restraint again and again drew back with- 
out u. 

The short May night was waning — the 
shiver of dawn rustled the leaves of the 
plant whose leaves were like red misshaped 

" Now ! " The doctor screamed the word, 
grasped the glass, drained it, and sank back 
in his chair. His hand struck the table 
beside him. Looking at his limp body and 
head thrown back one could almost see 
the cessation of pain, the coming of kind 


The dawn had grown to daylight, a poor, 
grey, rain-stained daylight, not strong enough 
to pierce the curtains and persiennes, and yet 
not so weak but that it could mock the lamp, 
now burnt low and smelling vilely. 

Roger lay very still on his couch, a man 
wounded, anxious, and extravagantly tired. 
In those hours of long, slow dawning, face 
to face with the unconscious figure in the 
chair, he had felt, slowly and little by little, 
the recession of that sea of knowledge 
on which he had felt himself float in such 
large content. The sea had withdrawn 
itself, leaving him high and dry on the shore 
of the normal. The only relic that he had 
clung to and that he still grasped was 
the answer to the problem of the trouble — 
the only wisdom that he had put into words. 
These words remained to him, and he knew 
that they held wisdom — very simple wisdom, 

" To end the trouble I must do so-and-so 
and say such-and-such." 

Slowly a dampness spread itself over 
Wroxham's forehead and tingled among the. 
roots of his hair. He writhed in his bonds. 
They held fast. He could not move hand or 
foot Only his head could turn a little, so 
that he could at will see the doctor or not 
see him. A shaft of desolate light pierced 
the persienne at its hinge and rested on the 
table, where an overturned glass lay. 

Wroxham thrilled from head to foot. The 
body in the chair stirred — hardly stirred — 
shivered, rather — and a very faint, far-away 
voice said : — 

" Now the third— give me the third." 

"What?" said Roger, stupidly; and he 




had to clear his throat twice before he could 
say even that. 

"The moment is now," said the doctor. 
" I remember all. I made you a god. Give 
me the third drug." 

" Where is it ? " Roger asked. 

"It is at my elbow," the doctor murmured. 
11 1 submit — I submit. Give me the third 
drug, and let me be as you are." 

" As /am? " said Roger. " You forget, 
/am bound." 

11 Break your bonds," the doctor urged, in 
a quick, small voice. " I trust you now. 
You are stronger than all men, as you are 
wiser. Stretch your muscles, and the ban- 
dages will fall asunder like snow-wreaths." 

44 It is too late," Wroxham said, and 
laughed; "all that is over. I am not wise 
any more, and I have only the strength of a 
man. I am tired and wounded. 1 cannot 
break my bonds — 1 cannot help you ! " 

44 But if you cannot help me~it is death," 
said the doctor. 

" It is death," said Roger. " Do you feel 
it coming on you ? " 

44 1 feel life returning," said the doctor , 
44 it is now the moment — the one possible 
moment And I cannot reach it. Oh, give 
it me — give it me ! " 

Then Roger cried out suddenly, in a loud 
voice : " Now, by all that's sacred, you 
infernal decadent, I am glad that I cannot 
give it. Yes, if it costs me my life, it's worth 
it, you madman, so that your life ends too. 
Now be silent, and die like a man if you 
have it in you." 

Roger lay and watched him, and presently 
he writhed from the chair to the floor, tear- 
ing feebly at it with his fingers, moaned, 
shuddered, and lay very still. 

Of all that befell Roger in that house the 
worst was now. For now he knew that he 
was alone with the dead, and between him 
and death stretched certain hours and days. 
For the porte cochere was locked ; the doors 
of the house itself were locked — heavy doors 
and the locks new. 

" I am alone in the house," the doctor 
had said. "No one comes here but me." 

No one would come. He would die there 
— he, Roger Wroxham — " poor old Roger 
Wroxham, who was no one's enemy but his 
own." Tears pricked his eyes. He shook 
his head impatiently and they fell from his 

" You fool," he said, " can't you die like a 
man either?" 

Then he set his teeth and made himself lie 
still It seemed to him that now Despair 

Digitized by L-i 

laid her hand on his heart. But, to speak 
truth, it was Hope whose hand lay there. 
This was so much more than a man should 
be called on to bear — it could not be true. 
It was an evil dream. He would awake pre- 
sently. Or if it were, indeed, real — then 
someone would come, someone must come. 
God could not let nobody come to save him. 

And late at night, when heart and brain 
had been stretched almost to the point where 
both break and let in the sea of madness, 
someone came. 

The interminable day had worn itself out. 
Roger had screamed, yelled, shouted till his 
throat was dried up, his lips baked and 
cracked. No one heard. How should they? 
The twilight had thickened and thickened 
till at last it made a shroud for the dead man 
on the floor by the chair. And there were 
other dead men in that house ; and as Roger 
ceased to see the one he saw the others — the 
quiet, awful faces, the lean hands, the straight, 
stiff limbs laid out one beyond another in the 
room of death. They at least were not 
bound. If they should rise in their white 
wrappings and, crossing that empty sleeping- 
chamber very softly, come slowly up the 

A stair creaked. 

His ears, strained with hours of listening, 
thought themselves befooled. But his cower- 
ing heart knew better. 

Again a stair creaked. There was a hand 
on the door. 

44 Then it is all over," said Roger in the 
darkness, " and I am mad." 

The door opened very slowly, very 
cautiously. There was no light. Only the 
sound of soft feet and draperies that rustled. 

Then suddenly a match spurted— light 
struck at his eyes ; a flicker of lit candle- 
wick steadying to flame. And the things 
that had come were not those quiet people 
creeping up to match their death with his 
death in life, but human creatures, alive, 
breathing, with eyes that moved and glittered, 
lips that breathed and spoke. 

44 He must be here," one said. " Lisette 
watched all day ; he never came out. He 
must be here — there is nowhere else." 

Then they set up the candle-end on the 
table, and he saw their faces. They were 
the Apaches who had set on him in that 
lonely street, and who had sought him here 
— to set on him again. 

He sucked his dry tongue, licked his dry 
lips, and cried aloud : — 

" Here I am ! Oh, kill me ! For the 
love of Heaven, brothers, kill me now ! " 




And even be- 
fore he spoke 
they had seen 
hi in, and seen 
what lay on the 

" He died this 
morning, I am 
bound. Kill nit, 
brothers ; I can- 
not die slowly 
here alone. Oh, 
kill me^ for pity's 
sake ! " 

But already the 
three were press 
ing on each other 
at a doorway 
suddenly grown 
too narrow. They 
could kill a living 
man, but they 
could not face 
death, quiet, en- 

" For the love 
of Heaven," 
Roger screamed, 
11 have pity ! Kill 
me outright! 
Come back — 
come hack ! " 

And then, since 
even Apaches are 
human, they did 
come hack. One 
of them caught 
up the candle and 
bent over Roger, 
knife in hand. 

" Make sure," 
said Roger, 
through set teeth. 

u N&m d'u/f 
nam" said the 
Aparhe, with 

worse words, and cut the bandages here, and 
here, and here again T and there, and lower, 
to the very feet. 

Then between them the three men carried 
the other out and slammed the outer door, 
and presently set him against a gate-post in 
another street, and went their wicked ways. 

And after a time a girl with furtive eyes 
brought brandy and hoarse muttered kind 
nesses, and slid away in the shadows, 

Against that gate post the police came upon 
him. They took him to the address they 
found on him, When they came to question 


by Google 

him he said, ''Apaches/ and his variations 
on that theme were deemed sufficient, though 
not one of them touched truth or spoke of 
the third drug. 

There has never been anything in the 
papers about that house. I think it is still 
closed, and inside it still lie in the locked 
room the very quiet people ; and above, there 
is the room with the narrow couch and the 
scattered, cut, violet bandages, and the 
Thing on the floor by the chair, under 
the lamp that burned itself out in that 
May dawning, 

Original from 


The Best Trick on the Billiard -Table. 


N order to afford amusement to 
those who have access to a 
billiard-table, either at home, at 
their club, or in a public room, 
we have collected from the most 

eminent players of the day a number of 

tricks on the billiard-table. 


One of the most attractive tricks that may 
be accomplished by amateurs with a little 
practice is performed with the aid of the pool 
basket. The red ball is placed inside the 
pool basket, which is then 
laid upon its side on the 
billiard-table. The white 
ball is then placed about 
twelve inches in front of 
it, not directly in a straight 
line with the mouth of 
the pool basket, but rather 
to the right. This ball 
is then made to jump into 
the mouth of the pool 
basket, and as it does not 
go straight in it strikes the 
side of the neck and causes 
the basket to spin round. 
This .spinni ng 
movement has the 
effect of throwing 
the red ball out of 
the basket without 
touching the white 
ball, which itself 
remains inside. The 
effect is most start- 
ling, since a white 
ball jumps into the 
basket and appears 
to jump out again 
the next instant, 
having turned red in the meantime. 

The principal difficulty which the amateur 
has to overcome is to make the white ball 
jump into the pool basket. To accomplish 
this he will find it advisable to place the 
white ball about two inches from a cushion, 
so that he can make his rest on the cushion 
and thus get the point of the cue well above 
the ball.. Fig. i. The end of the cue must 

Vol. xxxv.— 26. 

by LiOOglC 

be held well up and the ball should be struck 
on top with a very hard downward blow. 
The cue should not be held too near the end, 
but should be firmly gripped between the 
thumb and first finger towards the top of the 
splicing, so as to allow the arm a good back- 
ward swing, for a great deal of power is 
required to accomplish this shot. 

For the benefit of those who require a 
simpler way of making the balls jump into 
the pool basket I would suggest that they try 
the expedient of placing a penny on the table 
several inches away from the mouth of the 
basket, which in this case 
should be in the middle 
of the table. If a ball is 
then played at the coin, 
as soon as it hits the 
edge of the penny it will 
leap into the mouth of the 
basket, but a good hard 
stroke will be required. 
Apart from this trick, how- 
ever, a very good catch is 
to place the pool basket 
on its side on the pyramid 
spot facing baulk, and offer 
to strike a ball from baulk 
and make it jump into the 
basket. Although this looks 
seemingly impossible to 
those who do not know the 
penny trick, it may easily 
be accomplished by placing 
a coin in front of the 
basket as described. Fig. 2. 


Several neat and effective 
tricks on the billiard-table 
can be performed with the 
assistance of a dozen wine- 
glasses. Place the red ball an inch or two 
behind the pyramid spot, in a line with that 
spot and the top right-hand pocket. Then put 
the white ball just behind the red ball, and 
touching it, so that a line drawn through the 
white and red balls will strike a point on the 
left-hand shoulder of the pocket. Then place 
the spot ball near the top left-hand cushion 
in a straight line with the white ball and the 




FIG. 3. 

left-hand shoul- 
der of the middle 
pocket at the 
opposite side of 
the table. A half- 
ball shot can now 
be played with the spot ball 
off the white ball into the 
bottom pocket, and it will be 
found at the same time the 
red ball will find its way into 
the top pocket and the white 
ball into the middle pocket. 
So much for the shot itself, 
but the most telling part of 
the trick comes in when the 
performer, before placing the 
balls in position, sets out the 
wine-glasses upon the table, 
so as to form avenues of glass 
for the balls to run through. 
Practice having made <him 
very familiar with the shot, 
he can draw imaginary lines 
over which the balls will run, 
and he places a wine-glass on each side of the line to be 
followed by each ball. If there are enough wine-glasses 
at hand he can put two on each side in each case, 
allowing the height of a wine-glass between the glasses. 
*ig* 3- Needless to say, considerable practice is necessary 
before this shot can be attempted with the glasses on 
the table, or the result is 
liable to be destructive. 

There are, of course, many 
much simpler tricks on a 
billiard-table which are more 
in the shape of catches, and 
can therefore be performed 
at once without practice by 
everyone. One very good 
catch indeed is to take the 
two white balls and place 
them side by side tight 
against the top cushion ex- 
actly behind the billiard spot. 
If they are so placed with a 
little thump each ball makes 
a very slight indentation in 
the cloth, which is just suffi- 
cient to prevent them rolling 
apart when the red ball is 
balanced on top of them and 
resting partly on the cushion. 
A fourth ball is now placed 
on the centre spot of the D, 
and all are challenged to 
make this ball strike the red 
ball before touching either of 
the white balls. Fig. 4. 






All that it is necessary to 
do is for the striker to bang 
the table smartly with the 
flat of his hand. The jar so 
caused is sufficient to make 
the two white balls roll apart, 
so that the red falls on to the 
table and can easily be struck. 


Since I consider that the 
whole object of billiard 
tricks is to provide amuse- 
ment, I will describe one 
that I feel sure will provide 
plenty of entertainment. 
Place the white ball in the jaws 
of the left-hand top pocket, 
the spot ball in the jaws of 
the right-hand top pocket, 

FIG. 4* 

FIG. 5. 

and the red ball on the 
billiard spot, and then chal- 
lenge any member of the 
company to pot with one 
stroke each ball in a separate 
pocket. Fig. 5. 

At first sight this shot 
looks exceedingly puzzling, 

by Google 

Original from 



but the solution will probably occur to any 
reader who remembers that the billiard-table 
is not the only thing with pockets ! To 
accomplish the trick, it is only necessary 
to place a couple of billiard cues on the 
table along the top cushion with their tips 
overlapping and the butts touching the 
balls in the jaws of the pockets. The player 
now strikes the red ball straight down the 
table at a good pace, and, dropping his cue, 
holds open the pocket of his coat over the 
edge of the table just where the red ball 
will strike the cues. The pace at which it 
is travelling will cause the red ball to jump 
off the table directly it strikes the cues, and, 
at the same time the cue butts are given a 
jerk which knocks the other two balls into 
their respective pockets. Thus each ball is 
put into a different pocket at one stroke. 


Most tricks on the billiard-table, while 
they are very amusing, no doubt, are not 
a very great deal of use to the ambitious 
young billiard-player who 
is anxious to improve his 
game, for positions such 
as the balls are made to 
take up in the usual type 
of trick shot seldom, if 
ever, . occur during the 
course of the game. I 
could describe several 
kiss-cannons which serve 
useful purposes when 
they occur in a game, 
but they are so difficult 
and the opportunity to 
employ them occurs so 
infrequently that I prefer 
to describe a stroke that 
is easy to do, is very 
attractive to look at, 
and which occurs 
occasionally in an 
ordinary game. 

Pretty well every 
amateur who is 
capable of making 
a forty - break can 
play the ordinary type of steeplechase shot, 
when the cue ball is made to jump over 
the object ball. This type of jumping 
stroke can, however, only be played with 
any certainty when the object ball is in 
a direct line with a pocket or with the 
second object ball, which ever happens to 
be the cue ball's goal. Quite a different type 
of jumping shot can be played by striking 

by K: 


the cue ball on the top with the cue held at 
an angle of about forty-five degrees. One 
position in which such a shot helps a player 
out of a difficulty is when the object ball is 
close to the shoulder of the centre pocket 
and the cue ball is a few inches behind it. 
It is now impossible in the ordinary way to 
play either a winning or a losing hazard into 
the middle pocket, but, by aiming three-quarter- 
ball on to the object ball with the cue held at 
an angle of forty- five degrees, a powerful stroke 
will cause the cue ball to jump into the air, 
touch the top of the red, and fly over the 
shoulder into the pocket. If the balls are 
even several inches down the cushion away 
from the pocket the same stroke may be 
played, and the cue ball will land on the 
cushion and run along into the pocket. Only 
a little practice is required to make this shot 
quite a simple one. Fig. 6. 

A very good catch shot into the middle 
pocket is the following. Place the red ball 
an inch from the edge of the pocket, the 
white ball a quarter of an inch behind it, 
and the cue ball on the 
brink of the opposite 
middle pocket. Then 
challenge any member of 
the assembled company 
to pot the red ball with 
the cue ball without 
touching the white ball, 
which must, however, not 
be moved from where it 
is — a condition which, of 
course, applies equally to 
the other two balls. All 
that it is necessary to do 
is to place the pool basket 
upside down over the 
white .ball, which then 
stands inside its mouth. 
By then playing straight 
at the neck of the pool 
basket the red ball is 
pushed into the pocket 
without the white ball 
being actually touched. 

Screw-back shots are among my favourites, 
and I will describe one that, in addition 
to being somewhat of a trick shot from 
the amateur's point of view, is exceedingly 
useful in a game for gaining position. 
Place the red ball two feet from the top 
cushion almost in a line with the spot. 
Place the white ball six inches from the top 
right-hand cushion and about a foot away 





from the top cushion. Place the cue 

ball six inches behind the red ball in 

a line with the centre of the left-hand 

bottom cushion, and screw 

the red with all the right-hand 

side you can possibly put on. 

The cue ball will make a 

cannon off two cushions, and 

the red ball will travel round 

the table and stop near the 

top pocket. Fig. 7. 

There is a very good screw- 
back catch which always 
causes much amusement 
Place the red ball on the 
centre spot of the D and 
place the white ball exactly 
behind it and only one-eighth 
of an inch away. The pro- 
blem is to play an ordinary 
screw-back shot off the red 
with the added condition 
that the white ball must not 
go over the baulk-line, and 
that, in spite of this, the shot 
must be played hard enough 
to bring the red ball back 
into baulk. Fig. 8. 

The shot looks absolutely 
impossible, but it is made 
quite easy if the striker grasps 
his cue in the middle so that 
his hand strikes the edge of 
the table at the same instant 
that the point of the cue 
touches the white ball. Don't 
give too hard a knock at first 
or you will hurt your hand. 
It is easy to see where to 
grip the cue by measuring 
with the cue the distance 
between the white ball and 
the end of the table before 
making the shot. 

Mr. M. INMAN. 

Many attractive trick can- 
nons can be made when all 
the balls are in motion, and, 
as these strokes are fairly 
easy to accomplish and are 
very pretty to watch, I do 
not think amateurs could do 
better than attempt them. 
To instance one, place the 
red ball and the spot white 
side by side, touching each 
other against the left-hand 
bottom cushion, the red ball 

FIG. 7. 


by Google 

being a few inches below the baulk- 
line and the spot white behind it. 
Both must be tight up against the 
cushion. A cannon with all the balls 
in motion can now be made 
from a point a few inches 
below the D, straight in line 
with the white ball. The 
cue ball must be struck low 
and with plenty of left-hand 
side, and the object white 
must be struck on the left- 
hand side rather less than 
half-ball. The cue ball travels 
right round the table, while 
its contact with the object 
white kisses the red ball 
straight up the table to meet 
the object ball in the jaws of 
the left - hand top pocket. 
Fig. 9. 

I should like to mention 
one little billiard trick which 
proves a never-failing source 
of amusement when per- 
formed in private billiard- 
rooms after dinner. As the 
trick is one the point of which 
can hardly fail to be observed 
by all but the man who tries 
it, it can, as a rule, only be 
practised once in an evening, 
but the fun is often fast and 
furious while it lasts. The 
red ball is placed on the 
billiard spot and a white ball 
on the centre spot of the D, 
while a cue is rested against 
the right-hand bottom pocket 
ready for the striker to pick 
it up and use it. A victim 
having been chosen, the per- 
petrator of the trick then 
offers to bet him that he can- 
not walk round the billiard- 
table three times, keeping 
his eye on the red ball all 
the while, and then, still 
keeping his eye on the red 
ball, pick up the cue and 
strike the white ball so as to 
make it hit the red ball. 
The stroke is a perfectly 
simple one which it looks 
impossible to miss, yet the 
unhappy victim fails again 
and again, until he would 
begin to blame his host's 
wine were it not that, hap- 

Original from 




pening to take his eyes for a 
moment off the red ball as 
he marches round the table 
to make his fourth attempt, 
he notices that one of his 
tormentors is wetting the 
palm of his hand and rub- 
bing off every vestige of the 
chalk with which he himself 
had just previously been 
covering the tip of his cue. 


A very good trick can be 
performed with the aid of a 
fourth billiard-ball. Three 
balls are placed in a row two 
feet from the top cushion. 
One of them is put close to 
the side cushion on the left, 
and the other two, in a line 
with the first ball, on the 
opposite side of the table, 
about six inches apart. 'I he 
player places his own ball a few inches 
behind the ball on the outside right, and 
plays a square cannon on to the second 
ball with left-hand side in such a way 
that the second 
ball is struck fine, 
and the cue ball 
glances back off 
it on to the top 
cushion, whence 

the side carries it sharply on 
to the remaining ball. Fig. 10. 
A very puzzling problem 
with a simple solution, which 
is in the nature of a catch 
more than a trick, may be 
presented as follows. The 
red ball is placed on the 
centre spot of the table, and 
the white balls are placed on 
the centre spot of the D and 
the pyramid spot respec- 
tively. The striker stands 
behind the middle pocket 
and is asked to knock all 
three balls into a different 
pocket without moving from 
where he is, it being stipu- 
lated that the white balls 
must go into the corner 
pockets on the same side of 
the table as himself. The 
red ball is potted in the 
opposite middle pocket in 
the usual way, after which the striker takes 
his cue by the wrong end, stretches the butt 
across the table, and with a sweep to right 
and left, using his hands as a sort of pivot 
like the centre of a circle, which is described 
by the butt of the cue, knocks the white balls into 
their respective pockets. Fig. 11. 

FIG. 9b 


Mr. W. COOK. 

The shots which always draw most applause at a 
billiard match are those successfully accomplished by 
a player whose own ball is in hand while both the 
object balls are in baulk. One such cannon may be 
made off three cushions, as shown in Fig. 12, by 
hitting the cue ball with plenty of right-hand side and 
sending it round the table to cannon on to the object 
balls, which are close together behind the left-hand 





spot of the D. Fig. 12. A more 
elaborate cannon may be made off 
four cushions when the two object balls are 
close together just behind the baulk- line by 
the left-hand side cushion. The cue ball is 
now placed on the left-hand spot of the D and 
played so as to strike right up in the angle 
of the top left-hand pocket. It travels back 
and strikes the right - hand - side cushion 
just below the centre pocket, travels thence 
to the bottom cushion, and then makes the 
cannon. Fig. 13. 

A very good catch shot which may lead 
to plenty of fun may be performed in the 
following manner. Place the red ball two 
inches from the mouth of either of the 
centre pockets, and place the white ball 
six inches behind it in a dead line with the 
pocket. The cue ball is then held in hand, 
and the problem is to place all three balls 
in the centre pocket near which the red is in 
two strokes. Anyone who does not know 
the trick will, of course, attempt to pot the 
red with a fine stroke, hitting the cue ball 
just hard enough to make it run down the 
table and take up a position exactly behind 
the white ball, so that a four-shot can be 
made into the middle pocket. Few people, 
however, would care to bet about succeeding 
in this way, yet whoever is in the know can 
confidently lay long odds on himself, for all 
that it is necessary to do is to run a coup 
with the cue ball into the centre pocket, and 

by Google 

K1G. 14. 

then play a six-shot with the two 
balls that have already been placed 
in a line with the pocket ! Fig. 14. 


The trick that I choose for such readers 
of The Strand Magazine as are billiard- 
players to attempt is by no means an easy 
one, but it is such an attractive shot that it 
will repay the practice that is necessary before 
it can be accomplished, while it is sure to 
cause considerable astonishment and win 
plenty of applause. The problem is to make 
an eight-shot with one stroke, causing the cue 
ball to travel in three different directions. 
The solution is as follows : — 

Place the red ball tight against the shoulder 
of the top left-hand pocket, so that the edge 
of the red ball is almost exactly level with 
the edge of the pocket. Place the object 
white tight against the left-hand cushion, 
eight inches from the red, and place the cue 
ball beside the object white as in the follow- 
ing diagram. Any old hand at pool will 
now see that it is possible to pot the red with 
a kiss shot by hitting it full in the face. But 
by hitting the cue ball very hard and by 
giving it a great deal of top and left-hand 
side -it not only pots the red with a kiss, but 
flies back to the object white and then re- 
bounds towards the shoulder of the top pocket 
and is carried into it with the aid of the 
side. Thus the cue ball travels three ways — 

Original from 



Jf& -W- -<> 


I forwards, back- 

wards, and for- 
wards again* Fig. 15. 
Amateurs will pro- 
^'g. 15. bably find it best 

to practise this shot 
at first with the object white somewhat less 
than eight inches away from the red, but 
after a little while they will find it possible 
to do the shot at a greater distance. 

A much easier, but very effective, trick may 
be performed by placing a couple of balls 
side by side, and putting the pool basket just 
in front of them upside down — that is to say, 
standing upon its neck. 
The question is how to make 
a cannon with the cue ball, 
at the same time knocking 
the pool basket on to its 
proper end. To accomplish 
this it is only necessary to 
play the cannon straight- 
forwardly, without taking the 
least notice of the pool 
basket. When the cue ball 
is struck sharply, its contact 
with the neck of the basket 
does not alter its course, so 
that it makes the cannon, 
while the pool basket is 
knocked round on to its 
other end by the force of 
the stroke. Fig. 16. The 
trick can be accomplished 
when the pool basket is quite 
a long way from the balls. 

FIG. 16. 


One of the prettiest billiard-table tricks I 
know is performed with the aid of a couple 
of cues which are laid upon the cloth. The 
butts of these two cues are wedged in one of 
the top corner pockets, in such a way that 
the tips of the cues are about a foot apart. 
The red ball is then balanced on the butts of 
the cues and against the rim of the pocket, 
resting there quite firmly in the little space 
which is left between the butts and the 
rim. The white ball is then placed on the 
pyramid spot, which, owing to the arrange- 
ment of the cues, is exactly equi - distant 
from each cue. 

The striker's task is to 
play from baulk and make a 
cannon off the red ball on 
to the white. All that it is 
necessary to do is to play 
a fairly sharp stroke up 
the table, so that the cue 
ball strikes the first cue at 
a point just above the white 
ball. The force of the 
stroke will be sufficient to 
make the ball jump the 
first cue, but on reaching 
the second cue it runs 
along up to the red ball, 
and then, after pausing 
a moment, slides down 
the inclined cues and 
runs on to the white ball, 
thus making a cannon. 
Fig. 17. 

FIG. 17- 

by Google 

Original from 




O the great relief of Mr, True- 
fit t's imagination, his sister 
suddenly ceased from all com- 
ment upon the irregularity of 
his hours. Unprepared, by 
the suddenness of the change^ 
he recited mechanically, for the first day or 
two, the reasons he had invented for his late- 
ness, but their reception was of so chilling a 
nature that his voice was scarcely audible at 
the finish. Indeed, when he came home one 
evening with a perfectly true story of a sea- 
man stabbed down by the harbour, Mrs. 
Chinnery yawned throe times during the 
narration, and Captain Trimblett shook his 
head at him, 

" True or not, 11 said the latter, after Mrs. 
Chinnery had left the room, 
matter. It isn't worth while 
when explanations are not asked for, 

44 Do you think she knows? " inquired Mr 
Truefitt, with bated voice. 

14 She knows something,*' replied the cap- 
tain. " I believe she knows all about it, else 
she wouldn't keep so quiet. Why not tell 
her straight out? Tell her when she conies 
in, and get it over. She's got to know some 

"it doesn't 

Copyright, 1908, hy VV, \\\ Jacobs, 

ay GoOgJC 

"Poor Susan 1" said Mr. Truefitt, with 
feeling. '* I J m afraid she'll feel it. It's not 
nice to have to leave home to make room 
for somebody else. And she won't stay in it 
with another woman, Fm certain," 

" Here she comes," said the captain, 
getting up, M I'll go out for a little stroll, 
and when I come back I shall expect to find 
you've made a clean breast of it. ,T 

Mr Truefitt put out a hand as though to 
detain him, and then, thinking better of it, 
nodded at him with an air of great resolution, 
and puffed furiously at his pipe. Under 
cover of clouds of smoke he prepared for the 

Closing the door gently behind him, the 
captain, after a moment's indecision, drifted 
down the road* A shower of rain had 
brought out sweet odours from the hedgerow 
opposite, and a touch of salt freshened the 
breeze that blew up the river. Most of the 
inhabitants of the Vale were in bed, and the 
wet road was lonely under the stars. He 
walked as far as a little bridge spanning a 
brook that ran into the river, and seating 
himself on the low parapet smoked thought- 
fully. His mind went back to his own 
marriage many years before, and to his 
children, whom he had placed, on his wife's 

in the United States of Ametitpf 




death, with a second cousin in London. An 
unusual feeling of loneliness possessed him. 
He smoked a second pipe and then, knocking 
the ashes out on the bridge, walked slowly 

Mr. Truefitt, who was sitting alone, looked 
up as he entered and smiled vaguely. 

" All right ? " queried the captain, closing 
the door and crossing to a chair. 

" Right as ninepence," said Mr. Truefitt. 
" I've been worrying myself all this time for 
nothing. Judging by her manner, she seemed 
to think it was the most natural and proper 
thing in the world/' 

" So it is," said the captain, warmly. 

" She talked about it as calmly as though 
she had a brother married every week," 
continued Mr. Truefitt. " I don't suppose 
she has quite realized it yet." 

" I don't know that I have," said the 
captain. "This has been the only home 
I've had for the last ten years ; and if / 
feel leaving it, what must it be for her ? " 

Mr. Truefitt shook his head. 

" I'm beginning to feel old," said the 
captain, " old and lonely. Changes like this 
bring it home to one." 

He took out his pouch, and shaking his 
head solemnly began to fill his pipe again. 

41 You ought to follow my example," said 
Mr. Truefitt, eagerly. 

" Too old," said the captain. 

" Nonsense ! " said the other. " And the 
older you get, the lonelier you'll feel. Mind 
that ! " 

" I shall go and live with my boys and girls 
when I leave the sea," said the captain. 

"They'll probably be married themselves 
by that time," said his comforter. 

He rose, and, going to an old corner cup- 
board, took out a bottle of whisky and a 
couple of glasses and put them on the table. 
The captain, helping himself liberally, emptied 
his glass to Miss Willett. 

" She's coming to tea on Friday, with her 
mother," said Mr. Truefitt. 

Captain Trimblett took some more whisky 
and solemnly toasted Mrs. Willett. He put 
his glass down, and lighting his pipe, which 
had gone out, beamed over at his friend. 

"Are there any more in the family?" he 

"There's an uncle," said Mr. Truefitt, 
slowly, "and " 

" One at a time," said the captain, stopping 
him with one hand raised, while he helped 
himself to some more whisky with the other. 
"The uncle!" 

He drank the third glass slowly, and, sink- 

VoL xxxv.— 27. 

Digitized by UOOgle 

ing back in his chair, turned to his friend 
with a countenance somewhat flushed and 
wreathed in smiles. 

" Who else ? " he inquired. 

"No more to-night," said Mr. Truefitt, 
firmly, as he got up and put the bottle back 
in the cupboard. He came back slowly, 
and, resuming his seat, gazed in a meditative 
fashion at his friend. 

" Talking about your loneliness " he 


" My loneliness ? " repeated the captain, 
staring at him. 

" You were talking about feeling lonely," 
Mr. Truefitt reminded him. 

" So I was," said the captain. " So I was. 
You're quite right ; but it's all gone now. 
It's wonderful what a little whisky will do." 

" Wonderful what a lot will do," said Mr. 
Truefitt, with sudden asperity. " You were 
talking about your loneliness, and I was 
advising you to get married." 

" So you were," said the captain, nodding 
at him. " Good night." 

He went off to bed with a suddenness that 
was almost disconcerting. Thus deserted 
Mr. Truefitt finished his whisky and water 
and, his head full of plans for the betterment 
of everybody connected with him, blew out 
the lamp and went upstairs. 

Owing possibly to his efforts in this direction 
Captain Trimblett and Mrs. Chinnery scarcely 
saw him until Friday afternoon, when he drove 
up in a fly, and, after handing out Miss 
Willett with great tenderness, proceeded with 
almost equal care to assist her mother. The 
latter, a fragile little old lady, was at once 
conducted to a chair and, after being com- 
fortably seated, introduced to Mrs. Chinnery. 

" It's a long way," she said, as her daughter 
divested her of her bonnet and shawl, " but 
Cissie would insist on my coming, and I 
suppose, after all, it's only right I should." 

" Of course, mother," said Miss Willett, 

" Right is right," continued the old lady, 
" after all is said and done And I'm sure 
Mr. Truefitt has been to ours often enough." 

Mr. Truefitt coughed, and the captain — a 
loyal friend — assisted him. 

"Night after night," said the old lady, 
during a brief interval. 

Mr. Truefitt, still coughing slightly, began 
to place chairs at a table on which, as the 
captain presently proved to his own dissatis- 
faction, there was not even room for a pair 
of elbows. At the last moment the seating 
arrangements had to be altered owing to a 
leg of the table which got in the way of 




Mrs. Willett'-s. The captain, in his anxiety 
to be of service, lowered a leaf of the table 
too far, and an avalanche of food descended 
to the floor. 

" It don't matter/* said Mrs. Chinnery, in 
a voice that belied her words. n Captain 
Trimblett is always doing something like 
that. The last time we had visitors he 

"Kept on eating the 
cake after she had 
shaken her head at 
interrupted the 

that gout I Lilian seriously uneasy. With an 
idea of turning the conversation into safer 
and more agreeable channels* he called the 
old lady's attention to a pencil drawing of a 
ruined castle which adorned the opposite 



fe^tlAE, CAKft TO AS&lSf HER HOTHIlti" 

captain, who was busy picking up the pro- 

" Nothing of the kind,'' cried Mrs. Chinnery, 
who was in no mood for frivolity, " I 
shouldn't think of doing such a thing/' she 
added, turning to Mrs. Willett> as that lady 
allowed herself to be placed in a more 
convenient position* " It's all Captain 
Trimblett's nonsense. 1 ' 

Mrs. Willett listened politely. " It is 
annoying, though/' she remarked. 

H He might eat all the cake in the house 
for what I care/' said Mrs, Chinnery, turning 
very red, and raising her voice a little. 

" As a matter of fact I don't like cake/' 
said the captain, who was becoming un- 

" Perhaps it was something else," said the 
excellent Mrs, Willett, with the air of one 
assisting to unravel a mystery, 

Mrs. Chinnery, who was pouring out tea, 
glared at her in silence. She also spared a 
glance for Captain Trimblett, which made 

by Google 

wall. Mrs. Willett's first remark was that it 
had no roof. 

"It's a ruin," said the captain : " done by 
Mrs. Chinnery." 

The faded blue eyes behind the gold- 
rimmed spectacles inspected it carefully. 
"Done when she was a child — of course?" 
said Mrs. Willett. 

" Eighteen," said Mrs. Chinnery, in a deep 

" Vm no judge of such things," said the 
old lady, shaking her head. " I only know 
what 1 like ; but I dare say it s very 

She turned to help herself from a plate 
that the captain was offering her, and, find- 
ing that it contained cake, said that she 
would prefer bread and butter. t£ Not that 
I don't like cake," she said. "As a rule I 
am rather partial to it." 

"Well, have some now/' said the unfor- 
tunate captain, trying to avoid Mrs, 
Chinnery's eye. 

Original from 



" Bread and butter, please," said Mrs. 
Willett, with quiet decision. 

The captain passed it, and after a hopeless 
glance at Mr. Truefitt and Miss Willett, who 
were deep in the enjoyment of each other's 
society, returned to the subject of art. 

" If I could draw like that, ma'am," he 
said, with a jerk of his head towards the 
ruined castle, " I should give up the sea." 

Mrs. Willett inspected it again, even going 
to the length of taking off her glasses and 
polishing them, with a view to doing perfect 
justice to the subject. " Would you really ? " 
she said, when she had finished 

The captain made no reply. He sat 
appalled at the way in which the old lady was 
using him to pay off some of the debt that 
she fancied was due to Mrs. Chinnery. 

"You must see some of my daughter's 
pictures," she said, turning to him. " Fruit 
and birds mostly, in oil colours. But then, 
of course, she had good masters. There's 
one picture — let me see ! " 

She sat considering, and began to reel off the 
items on her fingers as she enumerated them. 
" There's a plate of oranges, with a knife and 
fork, a glass, a bottle, two and a half walnuts 
and bits of shell, three-quarters of an apple, a 
pipe, a cigar, a bunch of grapes, and a green 
parrot lookingat itall with hisheadononeside." 

" And very natural of him, too," murmured 
Mrs. Chinnery. 

" It's coming here," said Mr. Truefitt, 
suddenly. " It belongs to Mrs. Willett, but 
she has given it to us. I wonder which will 
be the best place for it ? " 

The old lady looked round the room. 
" It will have to hang there," she said, point- 
ing to the "Eruption of Vesuvius," "where 
that beehive is." 

" Bee ! " exclaimed the starjled cap- 
tain. He bent towards her and explained. 

"Oh, well, it don't matter," said the old 
lady. " I thought it was a beehive— it looks 
like one ; and I can't see what's written 
under it from here. But that's where 
Cecilia's picture must go." 

She made one or two other suggestions 
with regard to the re-arrangement of the 
pictures, and then, having put her hand to 
the plough, proceeded to refurnish the room. 
And for her own private purposes she affected 
to think that Mr. Truefitt's taste was respon- 
sible for the window-curtains. 

" Mother has got wonderful taste," said 
Miss Willett, looking round. " All over 
Salthaven her taste has become a — a " 

" Byword," suggested Mrs. Chinnery. 

" Proverb," said Miss Willett. " Axe you 

feeling too warm, mother ? " she asked, eye- 
ing the old lady with sudden concern. 

"A little," said Mrs. Willett. " I suppose 
it's being used to big rooms. I always was 
one for plenty of space. It doesn't matter — 
don't trouble." 

" It's no trouble," said Captain Trimblett, 
who was struggling with the window. " How 
is that ? " he inquired, opening it a little at 
the top and returning to his seat. 

" There is a draught down the back of my 
neck," said Mrs. Willett; "but don't trouble 
about me if the others like it. If I get a 
stiff neck Cecilia can rub it for me when I 
get home with a little oil of camphor." 

'" Yes, mother," said Miss Willett. 

" I once had a stiff neck for three weeks," 
said Mrs. Willett. 

The captain rose again and, with a com- 
passionate glance at Mr. Truefitt, closed the 

" One can't have everything in this world," 
said the old lady; "it ought to be a very 
cosy room in winter. You can't get too far 
away from the fire, I mean." 

'It has done for us for a good many years 
now," said Mrs. Chinnery. " I've never heard 
Peter complain." 

" He'd never complain," said Mrs. Willett, 
with a fond smile at her prospective son-in- 
law. " Why, he wouldn't know he was un- 
comfortable unless somebody told him." 

Mrs. Chinnery pushed back her chair with 
a grating noise, strangely in harmony with 
her feelings, and, after a moment's pause to 
control her voice, suggested that the gentle- 
men should take the visitors round the garden 
while she cleared away — a proposal accepted 
by all but Mrs. Willett. 

" I'll stay here and watch you," she said. 

Captain Trimblett accompanied Mr. True- 
fitt and Miss Willett into the garden, and 
after pointing out the missing beauties of a 
figure-head in the next garden but one, and 
calling attention to the geraniums next door, 
left the couple to themselves. Side by side 
in the little arbour they sat gazing on to the 
river and conversing in low tones of their 
future happiness. 

For some time the captain idled about the 
garden, keeping as far away from the arbour 
as possible, and doing his best to suppress a 
decayed but lively mariner ramed Captain 
Sellers, who lived two doors off. Among other 
infirmities the latter was nearly stone-deaf, 
and, after giving up as hopeless the attempt 
to make him understand that Mr. Truefitt 
and Miss Willett were not, the captain at last 
sought shelter in the house. 

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'-i 1 1 1 ti 1 1 1 ■_' 1 1 1 





He found the table clear and a bowl of 
flowers placed in the exact centre. On 
opposite sides of the room, each with her 
hands folded in her lap, and both sitting 
bolt upright, Mrs. Willett and Mrs, Chinnery 
confronted each other. With a muttered 
reference to his ship, the captain took up his 
stick and fled. 

He spent the evening in the billiard room 
of the Golden Fleece, and did nut return 
until late, A light in the room upstairs and 
a shadow on the blind informed him that 
Mrs* Chinnery had retired- He stepped in 
quietly, and closed the door behind him. 
Mr. Truefitt, a picture of woe, was sitting in 
his usual place at the comer of the stove, 
and a supper-table, loaded with food, was 

"Gone?" inquired the captain, scenting 

"Some time ago," said Mr. Truefitt. 
u They wouldn't stay to supper. I wish you 
had been here to persuade them." 

"I wish I had," said the captain, un- 

He gave utterance to a faint sigh in token 
of sympathy with Mr. Truefitt's evident dis- 
tress, and drew a chair to the table. He 


shook his head, and with marvellous accuracy, 
considering that his gaze was fastened on a 
piece of cold beef, helped himself to a wedge 
of steak-pie. He ate with an appetite* and 
after pouring out and drinking a glass of ale 
gazed again at the forlorn figure of Mr. 

" Words ? r he breathed, in a conspirator's 

The qther shook his head. " No : they 
were very polite," he replied, slowly, 

The captain nearly emitted a groan, He 
checked it with two square inches of pie-crust. 

" A misunderstanding/ 1 said Mr. Truefitt, 

The captain said " Ah ! " It was all he 
could say for tlie moment. 

" A misunderstanding," said the other. " I 
misled Mrs. Willett," he added, in a tense 

" Good heavens ! " said the captain. 

"She had always understood — from me," 
continued Mr. Truefitt, a that when I 
married Susanna would go, I always 
thought she would. Anybody who knew 
Susanna would have thought so. You would 
— wouldn't you ? " 

"In the ordinary way— yes," said the 
captain ; '* but circumstances alter cases," 
Original from 



" It came out — in conversation," said the 
hapless Mr. Truefitt, "that Susanna wouldn't 
dream of leaving me. It also came out that 
Mrs. Willett wouldn't dream of letting Cecilia 
marry me till she does. What's to be done ? " 

The captain took a slice of beef to assist 
thought. " You must have patience," he 
said, sagely. 

" Patience ! " said Mr. Truefitt, with un- 
usual heat. " Patience be hanged ! I'm 
fifty-two ! And Cecilia's thirty-nine ! " 

" Time flies ! " said the captain, who could 
think of nothing else to say. 

Mr. Truefitt looked at him almost savagely. 
Then he sank back in his chair. 

" It's a pity Susanna doesn't get married 
again," he said, slowly. " So far as I can 
see, that's the only way out of it. Cecilia 
said so to me just as she was leaving." 

" Did she ? " said the captain. He looked 
thoughtful, and Mr. Truefitt watched him 
anxiously. For some time he seemed un- 
decided, and then, with the resolute air of a 
man throwing appearances to the winds, he 
drew an uncut tongue towards him and cut 
off a large slice. 

Nearly a week had elapsed since Robert 
Vyner's failure to give satisfaction as a light 
porter, and in all that time, despite his utmost 
efforls, he had failed to set eyes on Joan 
Hartley. In the hope of a chance encounter 
he divided his spare time between the narrow, 
crooked streets of Salthaven and the deck 
of the Indian Chief, but in vain. In a 
mysterious and highly unsatisfactory fashion 
Miss Hartley seemed to have vanished from 
the face of the earth. 

In these circumstances he manifested a 
partiality for the company of Mr. Hartley 
that was a source of great embarrassment to 
that gentleman, whose work rapidly accumu- 
lated while he sat in his old office discussing 
a wide range of subjects, on all of which the 
junior partner seemed equally at home and 
inclined to air views of the most unorthodox 
description. He passed from topic to topic 
with bewildering facility, and one afternoon 
got, by a transition easy to himself, from 
Death Duties to insect powder, and from that 
to maggots in rose-buds, almost before his 
bewildered listener could take breath. From 
rose-buds he discoursed on gardening — a 
hobby to which he professed himself desirous 
of devoting such few hours as could be spared 
from his arduous work as a member of the firm. 

"I hear that your garden is the talk oi 
Salthaven," he remarked. 

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Mr. Hartley, justly surprised, protested 

"That's what I heard," said Mr. Vyner, 

Mr. Hartley admitted that his borders 
were good. He also gave favourable men- 
tion to his roses 

" My favourite flower," said Mr. Vyner, 
with enthusiasm. 

" I'll bring you a bunch to-morrow, if you 
will let me," said Mr. Hartley, rising and 
turning towards the door. 

The other stopped him with outstretched 
hand. "No, don't do that," he said, 
earnestly. " I hate cutting flowers. It 
seems such a — a— desecration." 

Mr. Hartley, quite unprepared for so 
much feeling on the subject, gazed at him 
in astonishment. 

" I should like to see them, too," said 
Robert, musingly, " very much." 

The chief clerk, with a little deprecatory 
cough, got close to the door as a dim idea 
that there might be something after all in 
Captain Trimblett's warnings occurred to him. 

" Yours are mostly standard roses, aren't 
they ? " said the persevering Robert 

'' Mostly," was the reply. 

Mr. Vyner regarded him thoughtfully. " I 
suppose you don't care to let people see them 
for fear they should learn your methods ? " 
he said, at last. 

Mr. Hartley, coming away from the door, 
almost stuttered in his haste to disclaim such 
ungenerous sentiments. " I am always glad 
to show them," he said, emphatically, " and 
to give any information I can." 

" I should like to see them some time," 
murmured Robert. 

The other threw caution to the winds. 
" Any time," he said, heartily. 

Mr. Vyner thanked him warmly, and, 
having got what he wanted, placed no further 
obstacles in the way of his withdrawal. He 
bought a book entitled " Roses and How to 
Grow Them " the same afternoon, and the 
next evening called to compare his knowledge 
with Mr. Hartley's. 

Mr. Hartley was out; Miss Hartley was 
out ; but at Rosa's invitation he went in to 
await their return. At her further suggestion 
—due to a habit she had of keeping her ears 
open and a conversation between her master 
and Captain Trimblett on the previous even- 
ing — he went into the garden to see the 

" The other one's there," said Rosa, simply, 
as she showed him the way. 

Mr. Vyner started, but a glance at Rosa 

Original from 



satisfied him that there was all to lose and 
nothing to gain by demanding an explanation 
which she would be only too ready to furnish. 
With an air of cold dignity he strolled down 
the garden. 

A young man squatting in a painful atti- 
tude at the edge of a flower-bed paused with 
his trowel in the air and eyed him with 
mingled consternation and disapproval. After 
allowing nearly a week to elapse since his 
last visit, Mr. Saunders, having mustered up 
sufficient courage to come round for another 
lesson in horticulture, had discovered to his 
dismay that both Mr. Hartley and his 
daughter had engagements elsewhere. That 
his evening should not be entirely given* 
over to disappointment, however, the former 
had set him a long and arduous task before 
taking his departure. 

" Don't let me interrupt you," said Mr. 
Vyner, politely, as the other rose and 
straightened himself. " What are you doing 
— besides decapitating worms ? " 

" Putting in these plants," said Mr. 
Saunders, resentfully. 

Mr. Vyner eyed them with the eye of a 
connoisseur, and turning one over with his 
stick shook his head disparagingly. For 
some time he amused himself by walking up 
and down the garden inspecting the roses, 
and then, lighting a cigarette, threw himself 
at full length on to a garden bench that stood 
near Mr. Saunders and watched him at work. 
. " Fascinating pursuit," he remarked, 

Mr. Saunders grunted ; Mr. Vyner blew 
out a thin thread of smoke towards the sky 
and pondered. 

" Fine exercise ; I wish I could get fond 
of it," he remarked. 

11 Perhaps you could if you tried," said the 
other, without looking round. 

" After all," said Mr. Vyner, thoughtfully ; 
11 after all, perhaps it does one just as much 
good to watch other people at it. My back 
aches with watching you, and my knees are 
stiff with cramp. I suppose yours are, too?" 

Mr. Saunders made no reply. He went 
on stolidly with his work until, reaching over 
too far with the trowel, he lost his balance 
and pitched forward on to his hands. Some- 
what red in the face he righted himself, and, 
knocking the mould off his hands, started 
once more. 

" Try, try, try again," quoted the admiring 

" Perhaps you'd like to take a turn," said 
Mr. Saunders, looking round and speaking 
with forced politeness. 

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Mr. Vyner shook his head, and, helping 
himself to another cigarette, proffered the 
case to the worker, and, on that gentleman 
calling attention to the grimy condition of 
his hands, stuck one in his mouth and lit it 
for him. Considerably mollified by these 
attentions, the amateur gardener resumed 
his labours with a lighter heart. 

Joan Hartley, returning half an hour later, 
watched them for some time from an upper 
window, and then, with a vague desire to 
compel the sprawling figure on the bench 
to get up and do a little work, came slowly 
down the garden. 

"You are working too hard, Mr. Saunders/ 
she remarked, after Mr. Vyner had shaken 
hands and the former had pleaded the con- 
dition of his. 

" He likes it," said Mr. Vyner. 

"At any rate, it has got to be finished," 
said Mr. Saunders. 

Miss Hartley looked at them, and then at 
the work done and the heap of plants still to 
go in. She stood thoughtfully tapping the 
ground with her foot. 

" I expect that we are only interrupting 
him by standing here talking to him," said 
Robert Vyner, considerately. " No doubt 
he is wishing us anywhere but here ; only he 
is too polite to say so." 

Ignoring Mr. Saunders's fervent protesta- 
tions, he took a tentative step forward, as 
though inviting Miss Hartley to join him ; 
but she stood firm. 

" Will you give me the trowel, please ? ' 
she said, with sudden decision. 

Before Mr. Saunders could offer any resist- 
ance she took it from him, and stooping 
gracefully prepared to dig. Mr. Vyner inter- 
posed with some haste. 

" Allow me," he said. 

Miss Hartley placed the trowel in his 
hands at once, and with her lips curved in 
a slight smile stood watching his efforts. By 
almost imperceptible degrees she drew away 
from him and, attended by the devoted Mr. 
Saunders, sauntered slowly about the garden. 
The worker, glaring sideways, watched them 
as they roamed from flower to flower. The 
low murmur of their voices floated on the still 
air, and once or twice he heard Miss Hartley 
laugh with great distinctness. 

Apparently engrossed with his task, Mr. 
Vyner worked cheerfully for ten minutes. 
The hand that held the trowel was so far 
fairly clean, and he was about to use it to 
take out a cigarette when he paused, and a 
broad smile spread slowly over his features. 
He put clown the trowel, and, burrowing in 

Original from 




the wet earth with both hands, regarded the 
result with smiling satisfaction. The couple 
came slowly towards him, and Mr. Saunders 
smiled in his turn as he saw the state of the 
other s hands, 

" I beg your pardon," said Mr* Vyner, 
standing up as Miss Hartley came close ; 
11 1 wish you would do something for me." 

ik Yes ? " said Joan. 

" I want a cigarette," 

The girl looked puzzled " Yes ? " she 
said again. 

Mr, Vyner, 
grave as a judge, 
held up his dis- 
graceful hands* 
"They are in a 
case in the inside 
pocket of my 
coat," he said, 

Miss Hartley 
drew back a pace. 
"Perhaps Mr, 
Saunders could 
help you," she 
said, hastily. 

Mr, Vyner shook 
his head, " His 
hands are worse 
than mine," he 
said, mournfully. 

He held up his 
arm so that his 
coat opened a 
little more, and 
Miss Hartley, after 
a moment's hesita- 
tion, thrust a small 
hand into his 
pocket and drew 
out the case. 

"To open it you press the catch, 1 ' said 
Mr, Vyner. 

Miss Hartley pressed, and the case flew 
open. She stood holding it before him, and 
Mr, Vyner, with a helpless gesture, again 
exhibited his hands. 

"If you would complete your kindness by 
putting one in my mouth/' he murmured* 

For a few moments she stood in a state of 
dazed indecision; then, slowly extracting a 
cigarette from the rase, she placed it between 
his lips with a little jab that made it a failure, 
as a smoke, from the first. Mr. Saunders, 
who had been watching events with a brood- 
ing eye, hastily struck a match and gave him 
a light, and Mr, Vyner, with an ill^oncealed 

smile, bent down to his work again. He was 
pleased to notice that though the conversa- 
tion betwcun the others still proceeded, after 
a fitful fashion, Miss Hartley laughed no 

He worked on steadily, and trampled 
ground and broken plants bore witness to 
his industry. He was just beginning to feel 
that he had done enough gardening for that 
day, when the return of Mr. Hartley brought 
welcome relief, The astonishment of the 


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latter at finding this new and unlooked-for 
assistance w T as at first almost beyond words. 
When he could speak he thanked him 
brokenly for his trouble and, depriving him 
of his tools, took him indoors to wash. 

"He means well," he said, slowly, after 
Mr. Vyner had at last taken his departure ; 
"he means well, but I am afraid Mr. John 
wouldn't like it/' 

Miss Hartley flushed. "We didn't ask 
him to come," she said, with spirit, 

il No," said her father, plucking at his 
beard, and regarding her with a troubled 
expression, u No ; I'm afraid that he is one 
of those young men that don't want much 
asking. " 
(To he continued,) 

Original from 

i PhysiogiMsiniidst 
at the 22®© D 


VISIT to the Zoo should 
be conducted } if the utmost 
enjoyment and amusement 
be desired t in what one 
may term the Discriminat- 
ing way. The visitor of 
discernment, humour, sympathy, and dis- 
crimination—the sentimental traveller, in 
short — has endless opportunities for the 
making of many pleasant acquaintances 
(presently to ripen, maybe, into delightful 
intimacies) with furred and feathered friends 
— not to mention others whose bald hides 
make up in toughness what they lack in 
outer adornment. There is plenty of cha- 
racter amongst the inhabitants of the Gar- 
dens, as curious as it is diverse, and the 
physiognomist who prides himself upon his 
skill in the analysis of facial characteristics 
has ample scope for testing his abilities in 
the reading of tell-tale features at the Zoo. 

Readers who are familiar with the satires 
of "The Book of Snobs" will recollect 
that inimitable comparison of the pompous 
after dinner speaker, who thrusts his thumbs 
into the armholes of his waistcoat and 
sticks his arms akimbo, with the ludicrous 
self-importance of a black-coated, white- 
fronted penguin. It is not seriously con- 
tended that there is anything literally and 



really in common between the penguin and 
the snob, yet the whimsical truth of the 
comparison must he instantly apparent to 
anyone with a halfpennyworth of humour 
who has observed the ridiculous little bird's 
portentous assumption of dignity ashore, and 
its pompous manner of attitudinizing. 

Let us consider the crocodile, whose hypo- 
critical tears have long been proverbial. No 
one ever yet has seen a crocodile weep, but 
neither has anyone of sensibility regarded 
the smug smile upon the face of the brute as 
it lies indolently in its shallow pool without 
perceiving in that smile, with instant con- 
viction, a covert revelation of treachery and 
cruelty. H ideous fa ngs, on e feel s i n s t i nc t i vel y , 
must lurk within those tight-shut, smirk- 
ing jaws. The serious person will protest 
against the fallacy of imputing hypocrisy to 
an animal of whose mouth the lines happen 
to have been somewhat cynically and fan- 
tastically drawn by Nature. But the fact 
remains that a creature which is in the habit 
of approaching its prey by floating down the 
stream of a muddy river in the exact guise 
of a drifting log can hardly be acquitted of 
treacherous and hypocritical instincts, and the 
counter-argument may be raised whether it is 
not conceivable that throughout the animal 
kingdom (man included) there are certain 
broad facial distinctions which Nature 
employs to indicate certain broad traits of 

Angry passions show their traces on the 
brute not less than on the human counte- 
nance, and even in repose the snarling visage 
of the lynx suggests that latent ill-temper 
which is ready to blaze forth with fierce 
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violence upon the slightest irritation. There 
is malevolent hate in those sullen yellow 
eyes, and not only in the expression of its 
face, but in its whole attitude the lynx has 
the appearance of seeking an affront. Those 
familiar with the manners of the beast will be 
aware that it does not belie its looks, as 
depicted in the first of the accompanying 

It is to be expected that in the Ape House 
and the Monkey House the physiognomist 
should find his greatest opportunities, and 
representatives of either place are included 
in the portrait studies which accompany this 
article. The apes, as being in scientific 
theory the nearest of brute creation to man, 
claim first attention. To the writer's mind 
there is something almost pathetic in the 
expression of philosophic doubt which ever 
sits upon the melancholy visage of the 
chimpanzee. Who can look upon the second 
of the animal portraits here presented 
without seeing the tragi-comedy of a 
mind which can go so far and yet not 
far enough ? It is as though the poor ape 
were conscious of its designation "anthro- 
poid," and were suffering under the strain of 
a perpetual effort to be " man-like " — and as 
perpetual a consciousness of failure. The 
superiority of the ape's intellect, as compared 
with that of other animals, only serves to 
emphasize its deficiencies when compared 
with the human mind. The mournful gravity 
of the chimpanzee's lineaments is the out- 
ward expression of its intellectual limits. 

The mobile face of the fanlous Sally (who 
challenges Jumbo for supremacy amongst 
the historic celebrities of the Zoo) when 
counting out a given number of straws was 
a striking illustration of the consciousness of 
those limits. Up to five she would count 
with a confidence and certainty that were 
reflected in her eyes. But let her be 
requested to select a bunch of straws of 
greater number than five, and at once anxiety 
took the place of confidence, certainty was 
replaced by doubt, and the whole expression 
of her face was one of puzzled hesitation and 
vexed annoyance at her own disabilities. 

Even in moments of idle amusement the 
chimpanzee seems unable to throw off its 
burden of intellectual care. Though ready 
enough to gambol sportively with its com- 
panions, it- does so with a certain solemnity 
and seriousness of purpose which is in 
remarkable contrast to the joyous abandon 
and light - hearted thoughtlessness that 
characterize the antics of its less brainy 
kinsmen in the Monkey House. 


As to the latter, there could be no truer 
estimate of them than Rudyard Kipling's 
wonderful analysis of their character — their 
vanity, frivolity, and chattering irresponsibility 
— in that chapter of the magic " Jungle 
Book " which describes the adventures of the 
bandar-log^ or monkey tribe. In his portrait 
study of the mantled guereza monkey — 
the third in the present collection— the 
artist has chosen an admirable representative 
of the type. But for the mercurial vivacity 
betrayed by the dark but brilliant eyes, our 
physiognomist might well deem (hat here he 
looked upon the absolute personification of 
sober dignity — a very patriarch of the tree- 
tops, whose flowing beard alone should 
command respect. Let but the object of his 
contemplation remain still, and the illusion is 
well-nigh complete. Impassivity, however, 
was never a role which any member of the 
bandar-log could sustain for long, and an 
unexpected somersault, or a sudden yielding 
to an irresistible temptation to tug the 
pendent tail of a brother guereza, inconti- 
nently gives the poseur away. The eye, in 
animals as well as in men, is the most 
expressive feature, and with the monkey 
tribe this is especially true. 

The Monkey House at the Zoo affords 
many good instances of the appropriate 
manner in which an animal's character is 
suggested by its external features. No more 
striking examples could be found than the 
big baboons, the very embodiment of savage 
strength and ferocity. Whether or not there 
be foundation in some cases for the suggested 
tendency to interpret brute features accord- 
ing to previous knowledge of their possessor, 
it is perfectly ce rf ain that in the case of any 
member of the baboon family a stranger who 
had never seen or heard of such a creature 
before would instinctively recoil in fear when 
confronted by it. Truculence and smoulder- 
ing rage are expressed not merely in the 
muscular limbs, the formidable jaws, and the 
hideous visage, but in the suspicious glances 
shot by the small eyes and the sullen 
attitudes which constitute the natural pose of 
the brute. 

By way of contrast take the inmates of the 
small cages which are ranged along the wall 
of the Monkey House. Here live the lemurs 
and the lorises, gentle creatures of retir- 
ing habits, whose guileless innocence and 
timidity are bespoken by the soft, furry faces 
and round, wondering eyes so strikingly 
depicted in the last of our illustrations. The 
loris is an unfamiliar animal to many, but 
it needs no great skill as a physiognomist 




on the part of the reader to deduce from the 
artist's study of the slow loris the inoffensive 
nature of this shy little beast 

There are tell-tale features, however, on 
faces less mobile than the simian* The 
earners supercilious sneer and general air of 
discontent belong appropriately to a sullen, 
obstinate creature which, though domesticated 
to the uses of man through long ages, 
remains unsusceptible to the civilizing 
influence of that intercourse, and incapable 
of those amenities which the finer natures of 
the horse or dog have rendered possible. 

The prowling lion, despite the undeserved 
reputation which his tawny mane and terrific 
voice have earned for him amongst those 
who have never met him face to face, revejls 
his true nature in his feline face. Shorn of 
his shaggy locks, he is no longer the 
" monarch of the desert" — witness the 
smooth-coated lioness, who has never been 
held up to admiration as a majestic queen of 
beasts. Blind fury, mad and unreasoning, 
sleeps in the wild eye of the bison ; cowardice 
is betrayed in the shifting glance of the wolf, 
who can never be induced for even a fleeting 
moment to meet a steady gaze. 

Birds perhaps offer more difficulties to the 
physiognomist than beasts. To a certain 
extent this is due to the greater similarity 
which prevails amongst their features, and 
especially to the more limited number of 
those features. The beak is, of course, the 
principal point of distinction* Certainly the 
differences in this respect are wide enough, 
and the beaks to be seen in the Zoo, from 
the iron hook of the eagle to the long probe 
of the aptery\\ or the capacious pouch of the 
pelican, would afford ample material for a 
lengthy essay. Now that most of the feathered 
inmates of the Gardens enjoy practical liberty 
in the big aviaries that have been recently 
erected, the most delightful opportunities 
are afforded to the amateur ornithologist 
to study their character and habits, and we 
commend them to interested readers, He 

must be a dull dog who cannot find enjoy- 
ment thereby. 

Reptiles, at first sight, would seem still 
less easy of analysis than birds, since their 
faces for the most part preserve one unalter- 
able expression. A contrary allusion, how- 
ever, has already been made to the crocodile ; 
and if any further demonstration be needed 
of the human interest (so to put it) which a 
reptile can afford, let the reader keep a pet 
toad— the learned will forgive the inclusion 
of the latter among the reptiles— and enjoy 
the fun of feeding him. There is character 
even in a toad, as anyone will admit who 
has watched the eager stealth with which a 
luckless worm or fly is stalked, and the 
sublime expression of content which follows 
the click that signals the disappearance of 
the quarry within the capacious maw. 

To the writer's mind the most interesting 
study in physiognomy which the Zoo affords 
is the giant tortoise in the pen next door to 
the Reptile House. There is a fascination 
almost weird in the strange, expressionless 
face of this uncouth monster, which ruis 
lived for who shall say how many centuries 
prist, and will continue its slow existence for 
who shall say how many centuries to come. It 
is such a face amongst animals as a China- 
man's face is amongst the faces of men, It 
has been said, apropos of the antiquity of the 
Chinese race, and in comment upon the 
contrast between Chinese and European 
features, that beside a We stern face the face 
of a Chinaman— of a Chinese babe even- 
seems centuries old. Again the serious per- 
son will protest against the fancy, but one 
cannot help feeling that what is true of the 
Chinaman's features in the connection just 
mentioned is true of the tortoise when com- 
pared with other animate. There is the 
same inscrutability, the same immobility, the 
same lack-lustre eve. Look a giant tortoise 
in the face, and one does not need to be told 
that the creature is centuries old. It is the 
very symbol of Antiquity. 

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|C)W please understand, 
Cynthia," I said, with an 
irritation that even the lovely 
face and appealing blue eyes 
before me failed to allay, "it 
was bad enough before you 
were married to be continually assisting you 
out of fixes and coming to the rescue at any 
moment, convenient Of otherwise \ but now 
that that event has taken place I entirely 
refuse to undertake any further responsibilities 
on your behalf. If you have got yourself 
into what you call a i Light place,' ask Mr. 
Peterson to help you out. It is his business 
now, not mine." I spoke as severely as I 
could, and Cynthia shook her head with its 
crown of wavy golden hair, and her pretty 
mouth drooped, 

"But that is just the trouble, Honor." 
How familiar I was with that particular form 
of commencement! "It's Bob 1 have 
quarrelled with— him and his mother com- 
bined. When mothers-in-law come in at the 
door, love flies out of the window," she said, 
moodily, "and I'm not surprised; I would, 
too, if I had the chance." 

" It seems to me that is just what you 
have done." 

"I came out at the door/' she observed, 

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Willi anolluT shake of the head, "and I'm 

not going in again, not till " — she paused, 

and I waited for the rest of the sentence — 
"not till Bob apologizes, and his mother, 
too. And, as I don't suppose either of them 
ever will, I expect I shaVt go back," she 
finished, composedly. 

"And, pray, what do you intend to do?" 

"Stop here," was the placid rejoinder, 

I raised my eyebrows. 

" Do you suppose Aunt Marion will hear 
of it for a moment? How can you be so 
foolish as to imagine she will uphold you in 
running away from your husband ?" 

" It would depend on the reason." 

"You haven't been married three months. 
There can be no adequate reason ! " 

** You haven't seen my mother-in-law/ 
Cynthia replied, sweetly. 

" Is she the reason, then ? " 

She puckered her eyebrows, and hesitated. 

" Partly ; but Bob would have been enough 
in any case. He has got to apologize, and I 
have told him so ; and he says he won't So 
there is an end of it" 

I laughed. 

" It sounds more like the beginning. What 
do you intend to do for the rest of your life ? ™ 

My cousin took the garden scissors from 




the table and began thoughtfully to snip a 
lily-stem into very small fragments. 

"I haven't made any definite plans yet, 
except that I won't go back to Bob," she 

I sighed, the loom of trouble in the near 
future rising before my mental vision. Cynthia 
had always been endowed with a perfect 
genius for getting into what she called a 
" fix," and was in the habit of relying upon 
me, although only a few years older than 
herself, to extricate her. Resolutions and a 
brave show of determination had availed me 
nothing ; she generally got her own way. I 
have noticed that people with golden hair and 
appealing blue eyes geneially do ; so far it 
had been I who had paid the price of her 
inconsequence. I had interviewed lunatics 
brought down on us by Cynthia, through an 
experiment with a matrimonial agency ; de- 
manded the return of indiscreet letters, 
written to a perfect stranger ; allowed my 
own character .for ordinary prudence to be 
torn to shreds; and had even been the 
means of smoothing the path of true 
love between her and the man she had 
married. His place being in the same neigh- 
bourhood as ourselves, she had settled down 
within a few miles of us, in easy reach of my 
aunt's house, which had been a home to 
both of us (my parents being dead, and 
Cynthia's in India) for many years. Not 
without reason, I had hoped that from hence- 
forth my responsibilities had been shifted to 
other shoulders ; and here she was, telling 
me with the most perfect serenity, after three 
months of matrimony, that she had left her 
husband for ever ! 

" What was the quarrel about ? " I asked, 
as calmly as I could, after a long pause. 
" Not that it can matter. It's absurd to 
think that marriage vows can be ignored 
and you can leave your husband as easily as 

" But I have," she murmured. 

"There must be give and take between 
the best-natured people in the world. You 
took him for better or for worse." 

" But the marriage service said nothing 
about the worst" 

" What do you call the worst ? " 

" My mother-in-law," Cynthia replied, 
promptly. I laughed in spite of myself. 

" She can't be as bad as all that," I remon- 
strated, wrestling with a long lily that would 
tumble over sideways, no matter at what 
angle I placed it in the vase. 

"She is— quite as bad. If it hadn't been 
for her I am not sure — mind you, I on 


' • 

I am not sure — that I should have quarrelled 
with Bob," she said, solemnly. 

" What was it about ? " I repeated. 

Cynthia hesitated, and looked at me 

" It doesn't sound much," she began, pull- 
ing a sprig of delphinium to pieces bit by bit, 
" but all the same it's really serious. It was 
about posting a letter." 

"It certainly doesn't sound much of a 
casus belli" I hazarded. 

"Don't quote Latin at me, Honor; my 
nerves are quite sufficiently upset as it is. 
And it isn't the fact that matters, it's the 
principle involved. That is why Bob— and 
his mother — have got to apologize before I 
consent to go back to him. And he says he 
won't. Men are so pig-headed." 

" You haven't told me yet how it 

Cynthia slipped off her hat and stabbed it 
thoughtfully with a long pin terminating in 
a bright green frog. 

" It happened like this," she said, slowly. 
"At least, this was the beginning. I was 
going to walk down to the station last 
Wednesday — no, it was Tuesday morning — 
and just as I was on the point of starting 
Bob came rushing to the door with a letter, 
which he wanted to go by the early post. It 
was very important — all men's letters are, in 
their own opinion — to his stockbrokers or 
something — and if it reached London on 
Tuesday night he should get an answer by 
the midday post on Wednesday." 

" Yes ? " I remarked, encouragingly, filling 
with water a glass bowl, ready for a great 
bunch of Dorothy Perkins roses. 

"As you know, the post -box is in the 
booking-office, close by where you get the 
tickets. I walked straight in through the 
door, as if I was going to get a ticket, and 
posted the letter; and if you were to try 
and persuade me, Honor, with all the racks 
and thumb-screws you could find, to say I 
didn't, I should still say I know I posted 
that letter, and then fetched the newspapers 
from the bookstall " — she paused impressively, 
hat in one hand and pin in the other ; " and 
Bob says I didn't." 


She hesitated. 

" I can't imagine ; except that for some 
reason or other it didn't go. At least, no 
answer came." 

" But if you really had posted it, Cynthia, 
it would have gone. You must know that." 

" I tell you I did post it, and if it didn't 
go, as Bob says, it was the post's fault, not 




"it happkheh like this 1 sne said, slowly, 1 

mine "—she gave a final stab into the crown 
of the long-suffering hat, and flung it on the 
table— "and Bob said it would be just like 
me to have forgotten it And then his 
mother chimed in, and that was the last 
straw. I might have stood Bob —I don't 
think I should have, but I might— but when 
his mother backed him up, saying, in a 
virtuous tone of voice* s"he had noticed I 
was very forgetful, it was more than a saint 
could bear ! n 

" And you not being a saint " 

"I didn't even begin to try," was the 
placid rejoinder. 

"What did you do?" 

11 1 said I wished I had married an orphan," 

" Cynthia ! " I exclaimed ; and then 

"There is nothing to laugh at, Honor, I 
can assure you. There was a terrible scene ; 
fur began to fly in all directions," my cousin 
said, gloomily. 

u 1 wish you wouldn't be so slangy. I am 
not surprised Mrs. Peterson was annoyed ; 
you were very rude," 

Diqilized by vjOOQIc 


Cynthia turned her 
blue eyes to the window 
and looked out at the 
sunshine with the ghost 
of a smile. 

"I couldn't have 
helped it, Honor, not if 
I'd been on my death- 
bed ! And then Bob 
was very rude to me— 
you'd never have be- 
lieved we'd been mar- 
ried only three months ; 
he was as rude 
as if we'd been 
married for 
years, and told 
me to tell his 
mother I did 
not mean what I 
I paused, 
with a branch 
of 1 )orothy Per- 
kins in my hand, 
to look a mo- 
ment at the 
pretty profile 
half turned away 
against the dark 
panelling of the 

"And did 
11 Was it likely?" she retorted, tilting a 
straight little nose in the air, "On the 
contrary, I said I never said what I didn't 
mean, and I was not going to tell a lie for 
anyone; why should I? And, if you would 
believe it "—she turned towards me and threw 
out one hand expressively — "he had the 
brazen assurance to say that I ought to do 
it just because he told me !" 

She closed her lips with a snap, and but 
for fear of making matters worse I should 
have smiled. Then she added, "I simply 

4t Perhaps he did not find it as amusing as 
you did/* I ventured 

" I flatter myself he didn't. He said 
there was nothing to laugh at as far as he 
could see, and I answered that a sense of 
humour had never been his strong point, 
He then said I had promised to love, 
honour, and obey, and when I refused to do 
so I was breaking solemn promises. 1 
replied, that with all his worldly goods he 
had me endowed, and so long as he kept his 
cheque-bo<^q|f3|^ef(^(f| in a drawer I wasn't 


2I 4 


breaking any more promises than he was, 
and that when he bonded the cheque-book 
over to me I would do what he told me ! 5J 
She came to a halt from want of breath, arid 
looked at me with the gleam of battle in her 

" What did tie say to that ? " I asked, with 
growing interest. 

"He said the first thing he would tell me 
would be to give it 
back again," she replied, 
gloomily ; " so, of course, 
we were no farther on 
than before. 1 had no 
idea he could be 
so aggravating — 
till I saw his 
mother, and then 
I supposed it w;l^ 

"I expect you 
are a little aggra- 
vating yoursel f 
sometimes, Cyn- 
thia," I remarked, 

" It's enough to 
make anyone 
Honor, to be told 
one hasn't posted 
a letter when one 
has," she said, 
looking at me re- 
p i o ach f ul 1 y - 
"If Moses were 
to drop the Ten 
on my head the 
next minute, I 
should still swear 
I had posted that 
letter ! And for 
Bob, who has pro* 
mised to cherish 
me all his life, to 
say 1 did not, and 
let his mother say 

it too, it's unbelievable ! And until 
apologizes, Til never go back ! " 

My heart sank. Cynthia would never be 
brought to look on the affair from a reason 
able point of view, and I foresaw complica- 
tions and difficulties without end in the 
future* Aunt Marion, always full of infirmities, 
had gone with her maid to the seaside for a 
week, and there was no one to eserrise any 
real authority. If I could even summon up 
strength of mind to put her out of doors, and 

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refuse to allow her in the house, she was quite 
capable of camping-out in the garden under 
a sketching-umbrella so long as the weather 
was fine. Persuasion was the only weapon to 
hand, and I knew it, from past experience, to 
be a poor one. 

1 finished arranging the Rowers, and, leaving 
bowls and vases standing as they were, flung 
myself into a chair and faced the situation. 
Cynthia seated herself 
on the edge of the table, 
leaning on her hands, 
and surveyed rne with 
exasperating serenity. 

* £ Now, seriously,' 3 I 
began again, M you 
know as well as I do 
in your heart it's per- 
fectly absurd to even 
talk of leaving your 
husband because he 
says you haven't posted 
a letter when you say 
you have/' 

"As I said before, 
Honor, it isn't the Tact, 
it's the principle," ^he 
replied, blinking at me 
gravely with her blue 
eyes as though great 
issues were at stake. 

"And the mother-in- 
law, I suppose? " 

"Partly: but it's 
mostly Bob. He has 
only got to apologize, 
and there's an end of 
the whole thing." 

"But he thinks the 
apology ought to come 
from you 3 and I am 
not sure he is not 

. M Why ? " she asked, 
with an air of great 

11 It was very rude 
to tell his mother you 
wished you had married an orphan." 
Cynthia raised her eyebrows. 
" I thought it was rather a nice way of 
putting it," she said, tapping one heel on the 
floor. "I could have been much ruder," 

" It was quite rude enough. Naturally he 
did not like his mother to be spoken to in 
such a way," 

"Then he should have a different sort of 
mother. It's no good s Honor, for you to 
preach ; I never shd! jret on with Mrs, 







Peterson, and I don't suppose she will ever 
get on with me." 

" You certainly have not made a good 

44 It's the beginning and the end — the 
Alpha and the Omega," she said, solemnly, 
adding, "as they say in Latin," which rather 
spoilt the dramatic effect. 

44 It's not Latin," I murmured. 

44 Then what is it ? It isn't French, and 
what isn't French is mostly Latin. Anyway, 
I am not going to apologize." 

44 It is more than possible you didn't post 
the letter, you know." I had had many 
years' experience of Cynthia and her ways. 

44 1 did, Honor ! " she cried, with an em- 
phatic stamp of one foot. 4< I can positively 
swear to it. If I heard the Last Trump 
sounding this minute it wouldn't shake me — 
not a particle. If I give way now I shall 
never have another moment'? peace. I have 
borne with Bob," she said, throwing out her 
hands tragically, "through everything, even 
his most ridiculous fads, and he ought not to 
forget it. I have given way to him over and 
over again, and even endured his furniture in 
the drawing-room — you know how he fancies 
his carpentering — although his tables sit down 
on the floor if you so much as put a tea-cup 
on them, and I've sat on his three legged 
stools till I ached all over — and this is the 
thanks I get ! " She paused, breathless, and 
I laughed outright at the sight of her indig- 
nant face and a vision of collapsing tables. 
44 It's all very well to laugh," she added, 44 but 
he has put himself outside the palings now, 
for good and all." 

44 1 suppose you mean the pale?" I observed. 

44 Whatever I mean, he is outside it," 
Cynthia rejoined, 44 and until he apologizes I 
stay here." She nodded her head at me to 
emphasize the determination, and I rose to 
bear the flower-vases to their destination 
without further waste of words. 

Later in the day I sent a note over to Mr. 
Peterson telling him of Cynthia's arrival, and 
suggesting that for a day or two he should 
leave her severely alone. It is always a 
delicate performance to interfere between 
husband and wife ; but I knew Cynthia 
better than he did, or than any man ever 
would for that matter, and I had a vague 
idea floating in my brain that I fancied might 
bring forth good results. 

Two days passed, and my cousin showed 
no signs of relenting, nor did her husband 
make any advances ; an attitude of indiffer- 
ence prompted, as I fancied, less by common 
sense or my suggestion than from a natural 


wrath at Cynthia's conduct. I had never 
met his mother, but from what I had heard I 
imagined there might be extenuating circum- 
stances to be urged on her daughter-in-law's 
behalf, and Cynthia had never been of the 
disposition that bears mothers-in-law meekly. 
Of course, the whole affair was absurd, but 
that did not alter the fact that Cynthia had 
left her husband after three months of 
matrimony, and declared she would never go 
back. Cynthia and reasonableness had never 
marched together. 

44 Are you going to Mrs. Fox's garden- 
party?" I asked my cousin, after another 
day had elapsed, to find matters no further 

She looked up from the comfortable depths 
of a low straw chair where she had been 
ensconced for half an hour, reading in the 
sunshine, and tilted her hat forward to shade 
her face. 

44 No, I am not," she replied ; " people 
might ask awkward questions, and it's no 
good making one's quarrels public property 
before there is any necessity." 

44 1 am glad to hear you have so much sense 
of decency," I answered, rather astonished. 

44 And Mrs. Fox's garden-parties are always 
so dull," she added, ignoring my remark. 
44 Besides, Bob might be there, not to men- 
tion his mother, and I prefer not to meet 
either of them." 

44 Just as well, perhaps, if you are never 
going back to him," I murmured. 

44 It's his own fault ; he has only got to 

44 Or you?" 

44 He began it. He shouldn't have said I 
didn't post a letter when I did." 

44 How can you be quite certain ? You 
do forget sometimes, you know." 

Cynthia pushed her hat back and sat 
forward in he r chair. 

- 44 Honor," she began, 44 if Michael and all 
his angels " 

44 Yes, I know," I interrupted, with some 
impatience ; 44 but, as you have been known 
to forget things, you cannot blame your 
husband if he sometimes thinks you have 
done it when you haven't. And, after all, I 
don't see that it's such a heinous crime to 
suspect you of." 

44 It wasn't him," she murmured, staring 
abstractedly at a butterfly settling on the 

grass at her feet, 44 so much as " But as 

it seemed fruitless to go into the question 
again on exactly the same lines, I walked 
into the house before the sentence was 

com P lete( briginalfroni 




Cynthia adhered to her determination not 
to attend Mrs, Fox's garden party, and I 
went alone, She gave me final injunctions 
to take special note of the guests, and of any- 
thing likely to be of interest, and particularly 
to let !u:r know if Mrs* Peterson appeared, 
and what she looked like. She made no 
mention of her husband. 

I found her waiting on the doorstep on my 
return, her pretty face animated by lively 

" Wei I f Honor/ 1 she said, following me 
into the house, "were there many people 
there, and who were they? You are very 
late, so I suppose you found it amusing? T ' 

" Very, ,J I replied, taking off my gloves, 
H All the neighbourhood was there, and the 
gardens were looking lovely." 

" I am more interested in the people than 
the gardens/' she observed, sinking into a 
chair and clasping both hands behind her 
head, " Did Mrs, St rang ways wear that 
everlasting blue dress again ? And who was 
in attendance on Nora Bridges this time ? I 
suppose Mrs. Peterson was there ? " she went 
on, without waiting for answers to half her 

Digitized by ^OOQ IC 

questions. " Was she 
in a good temper, or 
did she look as if she 
would turn the very 
freshest milk sour? " 
"Cynthia," 1 said, 
reproach fully, " you 
might remember that, 
at all events, she is 
your husband's 

"As she otherwise 
couldn't be my 
mother-in-law, I am 
not likely to forget 
it," she retorted, 

"As it happens, she 
was not there, and I 
was told she had gone 

Cynthia's face 
brightened, and she 
sat up. 
"Gone away altogether, do 
you mean ? " 
t£ I believe so." 
"Was Bob there? What 
did he look like ? Was he 
very dejected ? He seems to 
droop all over when he is 
dejected," she said, thought- 

" He seemed all right," I replied, care- 
lessly ; " but I had no opportunity of 
speaking to him," 
"Why not?" 

"He was too busy talking to somebody 
else." I crossed the hall to remove my veil 
at the glass over the fireplace. 

" Who was he talking to?' T Cynthia asked, 
with no regard for grammar, / 

"Nora Bridges : they sat in the comer by 
the conservatory most of the afternoon," 

"That minx ! " she exclaimed, rising 
to her feet. " What on earth could he find 
to say to her? She hasn't got an idea in her 

"But it's a very pretty one, even though 
there may be no ideas in it," I remarked. 

"Her nose turns up," Cynthia retorted, 
11 and it would be even more hideous if it 

"She is considered a very pretty girl in 
spite of it." 

" She is too dark ; her hair is black, and so 
curly it reminds one of the West Indies," 
Cynthia rejoined rather crossly, with a glance - 
at her own golden tresses in the looking- 




glass, catching the fading light from outside, 
in rippling waves, ** Had Bob gone before 
you left, Honor ? " 

u I don't know ; they disappeared into the 
conservatory about five o'clock, and I did 
not see them again." 

This bit of information was received in 
dead silence^ and when I turned round 
Cynthia had left the hall. 

She was rather quiet all that evening, and 
asked no more questions about the garden- 
party- After dinner we sat out on the lawn, 
and once or twice she was so silent I imagined 
she must have fallen asleep. When she did 
speak she was inclined to be snappy, and 
retired early to bed with the excuse of a 

The next morning, about eleven o'clock t 
Cynthia disappeared, and inquiries elicited 
the fact that she had taken the dog cart and 
a groom and gone for a drive, I had a good 
many odds and ends to do, the charge of the 
house during my aunt's absence entailing a 
certain amount of writing, and was not sorry 
to have the time to myself, free from inter 
ruption. It was not until four o'clock arrived 
that my thoughts 
turned again to 
Cynthia, and I 
was on the point 
of going out to 
inquire if the 
dog-cart had re- 
turned when it 
appeared on the 
gravelled sweep 
before the door, 
with my cousin 
on the front 

She threw the 
reins to the 
groom and 
jumped down, 
her face all 
wreathed in 

"You were 
quite mistaken 
about Bob 3 

Honor," she cried ; " he wasn't at Mrs. Fox's 
party at all ! " 

I laised my eyebrows, and met her glance 

"Then it must have been somebody else I 
saw. I told you I did not speak to him." 
If the recording angel had gone through as 
much at Cynthia's hands as I had he would 
add ^Extenuating circumstances" when he 
registered my sin. 

41 But it doesn't matter," Cynthia went on, 
taking off her hat and flinging it on the table* 
14 because we've made it up. I have only 
come for my things, and am going back after 

14 1 thought you were never going back to 
him again ?" 

u So did 1," was the unruffled rejoinder. 
il And what has made you change your 
mind ? '" 

" Bob went down to the station and made 

I smiled comprehendingly, 
yi And you apologized after all ? " 
Cynthia threw hrr head back indignantly. 
"Not at all! 1 ' she retorted; "there was 

nothing to apolo- 
gize for. We 
were both right 
as it turned out. 
I did post itj so 
I was right ; and 
it didn't go, so 
Bob was right. 
It really couldn't 
have turned out 
better. It will 
be a lesson to 
my mother-in law 
not to doubt me 
again/ 1 

"Why didn't 
it go?" 

"Because I 
posted it in the 
'Widows and 
Orphans ' box by 
mi s take," she 
said, triumph- 

Vol. xxxv.— 30. 

"WRKATH&D !M Stotl.Ei." 

by Google 

Original from 


Why They are Sensitive, and How 
They Came to be So, 


Author of u Some Nature Biographies" " Minute Mantels of Nature" ll Peeps into Nature* s Ways," etc, 
I (lust rated from Original Photographs by the Author. 

NE of the first caterpillars that 

we find in our gardens in 

the early .spring is that of the 

A^*u&yjjr familiar brown "woolly-bear," 

-^^^^^^M ^ e ' arva °^ ^t: tiger-moth. 
£^S^2^^Ej When we see this animal feed- 
ing on our plants, we only need to touch it 
with a finger to cause it immediately to 
become a hairy ball, which at once drops to 
the ground. We may then try to pick it up 
from amongst the herbage below, but its long, 
flexible hairs give way so readily to the touch, 
and are so often left in our fingers that, not 
infrequently, the caterpillar escapes by means 
of these ingenious tactics ; for, leave it alone 
for a minute or two and it quickly unrolls its 
body and travels out of the danger-zone. 

There is nothing astonishing in the fact 
that the caterpillar thus shrinks at our touch. 
It is as natural as that a hedgehog which we 
might meet in the lane should assume the 
defensive and become a prickly ball when 
we poke it with our walking stick* It should 
be quite obvious to us that when we touch 
the hairs of the caterpillar or the spines of 
the hedgehog these animals are sensible of 
the touch ; and it is apparent that the sub 
sequent actions of both caterpillar and 
hedgehog are defensive. This sensitiveness, 
therefore, by prompting the animal to take 
measures for its safety, serves a useful pur- 
pose in its struggle for existence* Instances 
of this kind are so familiar in animal life 
that we often fail to realize how very valuable 
to an animal is this delicate sense of touch, 
Indeed, this familiarity with the movements 
of animals is apt to make us oblivious even 
to their sensitiveness to external stimuli, and 
how much more oblivious to their dependence 
on the possession of such sensibility for self- 

by Google 

Turning now to plants, we should hardly 
expect to find developed in them the sense of 
touch, because we regard them as organisms 
without feeling. Also, we have to recognise 
that plants possess no nerves and brain- 
centres, such as we are familiar with in 
most animals. But, nevertheless, there are 
numerous plants which are just as sensitive 
as the caterpillar or hedgehog, or even more 
so. There are plants so sensitive that if, 
when standing by them, you should suddenly 
put up your umbrella or sunshade, it would 
be quite sufficient to cause them instantly to 
close together their leaflets and turn down 
their leaf-stalks, just as if they were startled 
^nd alarmed by the movement. Indeed, on 
a sunny day, when the temperature is suffi- 
ciently high, you need not make even so 
decided a movement ; merely your shadow- 
coming in contact with their leaves will often 
cause them to fall slightly. 

In illustration Fig, i is shown one of the 
most celebrated of these sensitive plants 
{Mimosa pudka), a native of Brazil, as it 
appears when circumstances are favourable. 
Now I will ask you to look at Figs. 2, 3, 
and 4, and I may inform you that the move- 
ments exhibited from Fig, 1 to Fig. 4 occurred 
in about one second. The photograph, Fig, 1, 
having been taken, a slight breath of air 
was blown at the plant through the lips. 
The results depicted in Figs. 2, 3, 
and 4, therefore, were brought about 
entirely without touching the plant or even 
shaking the pot — simply by blowing upon 
it slightly. 

Now, when upon our approach to a plant 
it suddenly folds up its leaves and assumes an 
altogether different attitude we very naturally 
ask, or wonder, why it acted so. Of course, 
in the case of our wooi!y bear caterpillar and 




Fto. 1. — The sensiiiye pUut when circumstances arc favour- 
able ; but if you breathe upon it™ 

{Fig, 2)— it immediately closes together Lis leaflets— 

(Fig. 3) — lets tall its leaf-stalks, and a second Litter — 

also out hedgehog, it was obvious that they 
derived protective advantages from their 
movements; hut what practical use can this 
strange tactic of the sensitive plant serve m 
its economy ? 

Well, when a plant, without the slightest 
warning, closes together its leaflets and, as 
it were, " shuts up shop 1 * in this summary 
fashion we are naturally rather startled by the 
performance, and wonder what will happen 
next ; and any grazing animal would have 
the same feeling, In tropical countries, where 
such sensitive plants are found, they fre- 
quently cover large tracts of land, and wan- 
dering grazing animals come upon them ; 


(Fiii* 4) — presents this appearance. 

indeed, maybe often attracted towards them 
by their bright green foliage, But what 
happens? The very first plants the animal 
approaches droop their tempting leaves, 
sensitive even to the vibration of the ground 
caused by its approach ; and should it step 
in amongst them, the tempting and juicy 
foliage recedes before it, for one plant con- 
veys the shock to its neighbours by the touch 
of its own leaves as they drop. Thus, what 
was a moment before a mass of tempting 
green leaves becomes almost instantly in 
appearance very scrubby fare for the animal, 
whose appetite anticipated much better re- 
fresh ment 0rigjna | frorf 




Some readers may, perhaps, be inclined to 
doubt if the movements of these plants would 
protect them from the attacks of grazing 
animals, but it is interesting to observe that 
the stems of the example illustrated, and of 
many other species besides, are protected 
with strong and sharp spines. This feature 
alone shows that such plants have had to 
protect themselves against browsing animals; 
and now, when they have turned down their 
leaves out of harm's way, they present to 
their enemy for its first nibble nothing but 
prickly stems, so that should the intruder not 
be awed by their uncanny movements, but 
proceed with its intention, its first mouthful 
would scarcely be agreeable after its richer 

Then, too, let us suppose that a hungry 
caterpillar climbs the stem of a sensitive 
plant and endeavours to feed upon its leaves. 
The caterpillar, of course, has to reach a leaf 
by its stalk, and in doing so it either gets 
thrown suddenly to the ground by the prompt 
falling of the leaf, or, should it succeed in 
adhering, finds the succulent leaflets gathered 
in a tightly-closed bundle, most difficult to 
move upon, let alone feed upon, while the 
whole arrangement is artfully contrived to 
conduct it towards the juicy end of this group 
of leaflets, which are now pointed towards 
the ground. However, when the caterpillar 
reaches this area, in which it would naturally 
commence its meal, the difficulties of feeding 
there, and the greater difficulty of climbing 
back again up the slopingly-arranged leaflets, 
usually results in its dropping to the ground 
— probably more or less disgusted with sensi- 
tive plants and their absurd arrangements. 
Even should it hold to the stem of one plant 
and endeavour to feed upon the leaves of 
another, it is equally beaten, for the leaf it 
touches immediately shrinks from it and falls 
out of its reach. 

It is clear, I think, that the sensitive plant, 
like the " woolly-bear " and the hedgehog, 
gains some considerable protection in its 
struggle for existence by its sensitiveness. 
However, there is another question that 
arises when we consider the quaint move- 
ments of these plants. How did they first 
acquire these highly-evolved tactics which 
they now exercise with such conspicuous 
success against their natural foes? There 
must, of course, have been a beginning, and 
then a gradual perfecting of the delicate sen- 
sitiveness they now exhibit. Apparently a 
difficult problem is presented when we seek 
to discover how this habit of shrinking from 
animal attacks was first acquired. 

Digitized by Google 

Before dealing with this point, however, I 
would ask my readers to glance at illustration 
F'g- 5- The photograph shows a cultivated 
species of oxalis, whose relative, the common 
wood-sorrel {Oxalis Acetosella\ is familiar in 
woods almost everywhere in the British Isles 
during early spring. Its characteristic clover- 
like leaves (of a pleasant acid taste) and 
white, purple-veined flowers readily distinguish 
it. The species shown was photographed 
just before dusk, and it is seen that the three 
leaflets of each leaf have turned down towards 
their stalks, and are now somewhat like 
partially-closed umbrellas ; later on, when 
darkness comes, they will close still more and 
become huddled together close round their 
stalks. This same characteristic of drooping 
leaflets at night may also be observed in the 
common British wood-sorrel. When daylight 
appears the leaflets once more spread them- 
selves out to the sunlight It becomes quite 
apparent, theiefore, that they have been to 
sleep, for each night the leaflets fold 
together, and each morning they open out 

Here, then, we have the beginning of 
sensitiveness in leaves. The leaflets of the 
various species of oxalis are usually very 
thin and of frail texture, and their function 
is the same as that of the leaves of other 
plants, viz., to spread their tissues out to the 
sunlight, and under its influence to absorb 
gaseous food from the atmosphere. At 
night, when sunlight ceases, the leaves can 
no longer carry on their feeding process, for 
sunlight is essential 

Seeing, then, that the. leaves serve no 
purpose by being spread out at night- time, 
it is a very useful device on the part of the 
plant to close them together at nightfall ; for 
then they are kept warm and their tissues are 
protected from the chilly night air. If the 
leaves were fully expanded they would 
probably accumulate moisture, and at the 
slightest approach of cold or frost receive 
a chill which might cause them serious 
damage. However, with leaflets folded 
closely together, both in the case of the 
sensitive plant and the oxalis, rain-drops and 
moisture are conducted to the earth below. 
So the first oxalis plant, which, in the 
natural variation of living things (for no two 
organisms, and no two habits in an organism, 
are identical), adopted the habit of drooping 
its leaves slightly when the temperature was 
lowered, found that it was beneficial, and it 
forthwith conveyed the hint to its race ; and, 
being good, the habit became hereditary. 
Thus the wood-sorrel, and others of its genus, 

_- 1 1 >_i 1 1 1 >.i i \w 




acquired the habit of sleeping leaves ; which, 
of course, represents sensitiveness to external 
conditions, such as light and temperature. 

The species illustrated in Fig. 5 has brown 
or copper-coloured foliage, and the leaves of 
the common wood sorrel also often develop 
on their under sides this same reddish hue. 
This colouring matter has the peculiar 
property of utilizing the rays of light and 
converting their energy into heat, which 
naturally benefits the growing plant. For 
the same reason the 
buds of many plants, 
when they develop in 
the spring {as the 
familiar hawthorn of 
the hedgerows), are 
red and brown. The 
colt's-fuot, which 
throws up its flower- 
bearing stems in Feb- 
ruary or March, well 
before its leaves, also 
clothes its flower- 
stalks with redd ish - 
coloured scales, and 
many other examples 
might be quoted where 
early growth takes 
place, and conse- 
quently all the avail- 
able heat of the sun's 
rays is needed. 

This copper colour, 
then, is but another 
proof of the delicacy 
of the leaves of the 
wood-sorrel family, 
and it is an addi- 
tional indication 
of the sensitiveness 
of their leaflets 
and how much they 

species that has evolved and developed a 
detail of this kind until every leaf has 
become a deep copper colour is, of course, a 
progressive one ; in this species, too, the 
sleeping movement is much more readily 
induced than in the common British species. 
Furthermore, there are other species of 
oxalis which, with a little rough handling, 
will droop their leaflets in broad daylight ; 
and, in the Oxalis sensitiva of India, we have 
another example of the same genus which 
has evolved its sensitiveness to almost the 
same stage as those of the mimosas, or true 
sensitive plants ; for its leaves contract at the 
slightest touch, just as shown in the above 
illustrations of the sensitive plant, Also, we 

Digitized b/G< 

Fig* 5.— The common wwd-Agnrd und its relations dfoap iheir 
leaflets (uh shuwn in ihc photograph) when night approaches. 

need protection. A 

may note that amongst the mimosas them- 
selves all the species close their leaflets 
together as night comes on ; and amongst 
the various species we find exhibited every 
gradation of sensitiveness, just as we do in 
the wood-sorrel family. 

Seeing that the mimosas and the wood- 
sorrel tribe are distinct groups Oi plants, their 
families being in no way related, it is, I 
think, reasonable to contend that the sensi- 
tive characteristic of their leaves was evolved 

from the sleeping 
habit However, it 
still remains to explain 
how the plants ac- 
quired their habit of 
shrinking at the ap- 
proach and the touch 
of animals* 

The explanation is, 
I think, very simple. 
A plant that has deve- 
loped the sensitive or 
sleep movement to a 
high degree is neces- 
sarily affected when 
light decreases. Thus, 
at the approach of a 
storm, when the sky 
becomes cloudy and 
dark, its leaflets 
quickly close together. 
The tain pelts down 
with the characteristic 
force of storms in the 
tropical countries 
where these extremely 
sensitive ] slants are 
found ; the leaflets, 
however, huddle still 
closer together, for in 
that position they 
most readily throw off the water ; and the 
probability of their getting damaged is, of 
course, comparatively small. So, in the course 
of time, the leaflets would acquire the habit 
of drooping at the first spots of rain that 
touch them, and this quite independently of 
the influence of light— simply because the 
leaves benefit by the habit. This, I think, 
was how sensibility to touch was first acquired 
and manifested by these leaves. Later on, 
when the habit was firmly acquired, they 
quite naturally drooped their leaves also 
when animals touched them ; for they had 
learned that such was the proper and wise 
course to pursue whenever anything external 
came in contact with them. 

So the sensitive plant developed its talent 




accordingly, and to-day we marvel at its 
cunning as it surprises and tricks the grazing 
animals and other of its enemies ; but we 
must not overlook the fact that there is in 
reality no such subtle discrimination and 
cunning in its manoeuvres. The plant acts 
exactly the same if a spot of water is dropped 

L— . - 

i:^:i. \ 

Vic* &—■ A magnified view of the lip of a young root of barley, 

bhowtng it£ sensitive root-cap^ which direct* ]\\ jKiih in the soil ; 

ahove are absorption hairi, which nuuruh I tie plant, 

upon its leaves as it would if a browsing 
animal touched them with its nose, or as 
when I blew at it before taking the photo- 
graphs ; indeed, the plant is quite unable to 
distinguish between these external influences* 
But, by the mere fact of these sensitive move 
ments having served so good a purpose in its 
economy, they became hereditary, and were 
further evolved until the disturbance of the 
atmosphere caused by our approach, or by 
the movement of our umbrella, or by the 
change of light caused by our shadow being 
suddenly cast across their leaves, was suffi- 
cient to influence them ; just as would, in a 
larger degree, the stronger wind and the 
greater darkness of an approaching storm. 

Sensibility in plants, however, does not 
begin or end in the leaf structures. It exists 
in the germinating seed, and in every sti^e 
of their subsequent development. From the 
seed emerges a tiny root which penet rales 

the soil, but not as a piece of stick might do. 
The root tip quite fastidiously selects its path 
amongst the interstices of the soil, seeking 
out moist places and avoiding such obstacles 
as will not provide suitable mineral food. 
If you examine the tip of a young root by 
means of a microscope (Fig. 6), you will 
find that it is protected by a thimble-like 
mass of loose tissue or a " root-cap/' as the 
botanist terms it Within this is the true 
growing tip of the root, but it is the sensitive 
root-cap which guides the root -tip to suit- 
able quarters, where it can set to work 
its army of delicate root- hairs, which it 
carries at its rear (see illustration). It is by 
means of these root-hairs that the plant is 
supplied with water and mineral food, for the 
root-tip does not itself feed, neither does the 
sensitive root-cap. It is plain, therefore, that 


it ji neneiraies 


Fig, 7. —An orchid whose sensitive roots leave the pot m which 
the plant grows and develop* in and feed from the atmosphere. 

sensibility in plant structure manifests itself 
at a very early period. 

This root sensitiveness is highly developed 
in some orchids, an example of which is 
shown in Fig, 7, The roots of the orchid 
shown are seej^aj^v^le^ the pot which 




holds the plant and suspended themselves in 
the air; in their natural environment these 
orchids grow on, and adhere to, the bark of 
trees, but do not feed upon their hosts^ 
simply using their branches as a support. 
Attaching themselves with a few root fibres, 
they then throw out into the atmosphere their 
feeding roots. The aerial roots are clothed 
with a paper-like covering, and when moisture 
is absorbed this membranous covering pre- 
vents it evaporating from the root tissues ; 
thus the orchids stand the long periods of 
drought ; indeed, they become veritable 
vegetable camels, storing their water like the 
"ships of the desert" for a time of need, 
Vet so sensitive are these 
roots to their natural 
environment, the at mo 
sphere, that if they are 
buried in the soil, or even 
laid upon it, the plant 
generally perishes* 

Many seedling plants, 
when they break through 
the surface of the soil, 
exhibit striking aspects of 
sensibility almost imme- 
diately. In Fig. 8 is shown 
a young plant of the 
common bryony, the sole 
British representative of 
the cucumber and vege- 
table marrow family , and 
I will ask you to note how 
the climbing tendrils are 
stretching out into the 
surrounding air in various 
directions, diligently 
searching for a friendly 
grip that shall give them 
a pull-up in life^ that the 
plant may spread out its 
leaves to the sunlight. 
You have only to touch 
one of these tendrils for 
a few times at intervals to make it curve 
in the direction from which it was touched 
Thus the young climbing plant springs up 
and develops its stem and leaves, just as Ml 
honest plants should do ; but, later, it reveals 
the worst side of its character, for it then 
sends out its tendrils, which embrace the 
stems and leaves of neighbour plants ; and 
then over these stronger plants it scrambles 
at a reckless pace, spreading out its leaves 
and holding up its flowers to the fertilizing 
insects — of course, much to the disadvantage 
of those plants which are gathered within its 
coils. Thus, by means of these sensitive 

. 1 ^ 

A young plane of the common bryony send - 
ng oul its sensitive I end ri Is in search of A friendly 

grip that w ill give the plant a pull-up in lift 

tendrils ft can, in the course of the summer, 
readily reach the hedgerow-top with its weak 
stein anil small stork of material : whereas its 
woody host has taken several years to get its 
leaves and flowers so high in the world. 
Most climbing plants present similar interest- 
ing aspects of sensibility. 

Finally, I will take an example of sensitive- 
ness in a flower. In the common barberry 
the stamens, or pollen producing organs, are 
extremely sensitive; in fact, they probably 
present the best example of active sensibility 
amongst British plants. You have but; to 
touch the base of these stamens to make 
them spring instantly forward, towards the 
side of the ovary, or cen- 
tral part of the flower, 
which they press against 
with considerable pres- 
sure. If my reader will 
look carefully at the cen- 
tral parts of the flowers 
shown in Fig. 9, the light- 
coloured stamens will be 
seen opened out and 
pressed back against the 
petals ; but if Fig. 10 is 
carefully observed, the 
flowers there will be seen 
to be very different ; their 
stamens have all closed 
towards the central ovary, 
and this is simply owing 
to the fact that I had 
touched the base of the 
stamens with the point of 
a pin— an interesting ex- 
periment that my reader 
may try at any time when 
the barberry is in flower* 
Cultivated species of 
shrubs (such as that 
illustrated), and the 
common British species, 
show alike this interest 
ing feature of sensitiveness. 

It remains now to discover what ad van 
tages the barberry derives from its sensitive 
stamens, With this purpose in view, I pro 
ceeded one afternoon to investigate. Almost 
every flower that I examined contained one 
or more small black beetles, each about half 
the size of a wheat grain ; there were thou- 
sands of them at work amongst the flowers, 
all as busy as it was possible to be. They 
were rifling the nectar of the twelve honey- 
glands arranged in pairs at the base of the petals 
in each flower ; but not a single beetle reached 
those harry glands without causing some of 


22 + 




* ^-m 

l-'li.. ij. lfarijerry tiuweri w itll their sensitive st.imeilS t Of 
pollen -producing organs, opened wide. In the next photo- 
graph they arc seen to have — 

the stamens to suddenly 
spring forward in the 
manner previously de- 
scribed. Beetles that 
were resting on the tops, 
and the edges, of the 
ovaries were being con- 
tinually thrown into the 
centre of the flowers by 
the sudden jerk of the 
closing stamens when 
touched by another insect 
lie low, which had already 
reached the nectar. And 
there the dislodged insect 
would lie on ils back 
struggling to regain its 
feet until its exertions, 
together with the move- 
ments of other agitated 
In re ties, had brought for- 
ward every stamen in the 
flower* Some of the 
beetles were gripped 
between the heads of 
the stamens and the 
side of the ovary and held there until they 
could wriggle out of the clutch. How 
tightly the stamens can grip an insect I have 
illustrated in Fig- ii f where I have left the 
pin used to bring the sensitive stamens into 
action within the grip of two of them — 
another interesting experiment that may 

Digitized by Google 

Fig. ii. — How lightly the stamens gTip an insect 

is here shown, where two *uunen& are holding the 

pin that irritates them. 

< Fie io>— dosed down on the OT*rf, or central part of the flower. 

Some i>ct:il>. have been removed from the lowermost flower on the 

right to show the working of ihe stamen* more dearly. 

easily be performed with 
a little care. 

The stamens open to 
shed their pollen by 
means of a kind of valve 
at the top, and with the 
sudden jerk forward the 
pollen is showered out at 
the valve, and falls in all 
directions amongst the 
struggling beetles within 
ihe flower; and therein 
lies the secret of the whole 
matter, Those black 
beetles, after being so 
roughly treated by the 
stamens, became yellow 
beetles, since to almost 
all parts of their bodies 
the yellow pollen adhered. 
That the beetles enjoyed 
the nectar there was no 
doubt, but to get it 
they had to undergo a 
rough - and - tumble ex- 
perience, whether they 
And this was the bar- 
berry's device for getting its pollen conveyed 
to other blooms, and for receiving pollen 
itself from other stamens for the pollination 
of its own ovary. Thus cross pollination is 
ensured, and that means fertile seed and 
the strengthening of its race. 


liked it or not. 

$4&8^*~~' ^ 




ND it was. It was the living 
image of the little, pig-like 
animal that was stamped in 
gold above the chequered 
shield on the cover of the 
white book in which they had 
found the spell. And as on the yellowy 
white of the vellum book cover, so here on 
the thymy grass of the knoll, it shone 
golden* The children stood perfectly still 
They were afraid to move lest they should 
scare away this little creature which, though 
golden, was alive and moved about at their 
feet, turning a restless nose to right and left 

"It is" said Elfrida again, very softly, so 
as not to frighten it 

"Whatr Edred asked, though he knew 
well enough. 

" Off the book that we got the spell out of," 

" That was our crest on top of our coat- 
of-arms, like on the old snuff-box that was 
grea t gr a nd papa's. " 

" This is our crest come alive, that's all." 

" Well/ said Edred, " it's very tame, I 
will say that" 

11 Well— — " Elfrida was beginning ; but 
at that same moment the mole also, sud- 
denly and astonishingly, said, " Well ? " 

There was a hushed pause. Then :— 

11 Did you say that ? " Elfrida whispered, 

"No," said Edred, "jw did" 

Vol. **jtv 4 — 31. Copyright, i^dB* 

by L^OOgle 

w Don't whisper, now/ 1 said the mole j 
" 'tain't purty manners, so I tells *ee." 

With one accord the two children came to 
their knees, one on each side of the white 

" I say ! " said Edred 

" Now, don't," said the mole, pointing its 
nose at him quite as disdainfully as any 
human being could have pointed a finger, 
" Don't you go for to purtend you don't know 
as Mould! warps f as got tongues in dere heads 
same's what you've got" 

"But not to talk with?" said Elfrida, 

u Don't you tell me," said the Mouldiwarp, 
bristling a little* " Hasn't no one told you 
e'er a fairy-tale? All us beasts has tongues, 
and when we're dere us uses of en," 

" When you're where ? " said Edred, rather 
annoyed at being forced to believe in fairy- 
tales, which he had never really liked. 

"Why, in a fairy-tale for sure," said the 
mole. " Wherever to goodness else on earth 
do you suppose you be ? " 

" We're here," said Edred, kicking the 
ground to make it feel more solid and himself 
more sure of things, "on Arden Knoll" 

*' An' ain't that in a fairy-tale ? " demanded 
the Mouldiwarp, triumphantly. "You do 
talk so free, you do. You called me, and 
here I be. What d'you want ? " 

C£ Are you;" said Elfrida, thrilling with 
surprise and fear, and pleasure and hope, and 

by E. Nesbit Blsxid. . , , * 

Original from 



wonder, and a few other things which, taken 
in the lump, are usually called "a thousand 
conflicting emotions " — " are you the ' badge 
of Arden's house ' ? " 

"Course I be," said the mole — "what's 
left of it ; and never did I think he be called 
one by the Arden boy and gell as didn't know 
their own silly minds. What do you want, 

"You might tell us where the treasure 
is," said Edred. 

" Dat comes last, greedy," said the mole. 
" I've got to make you good and wise first, 
and I see I've got my work cut out. Good 

It began to move away. 

" Oh, don't go," said Elfrida ; " we shall 
never find you again. Oh, don't ! Oh, this 
is dreadful ! " 

The mole paused 

" I've got to let you find me again. Don't 
upset yourself," it said, bitterly. " Whfcn you 
wants me, come up on to the knoll and say 
a piece of poetry to call me, and I'll come," 
and it started again. 

" But what poetry ? " Edred asked. 

"Oh, anything. You can pick and choose." 

Edred thought of " The Lays of Ancient 

" Only 'tain't no good without you makes it 
up yourselves," said the Mouldiwarp. 

" Oh ! " said the two, much disheartened. 

" And course it must be askin' me to kindly 
come to you. Get along home." 

The two children turned towards the lights 
of Ardenhurst Station in perfect silence. By 
the time they reached the house with the 
green balconies and the smooth, pale, polished 
door-knocker they had decided, as children 
almost always do in cases of magic adventure, 
that they had better not say anything to any- 

Aunt Edith came home as they were wash- 
ing their hands and faces. She brought with 
her presents for Edred's birthday — nicer 
presents, and more of them, than he had 
had for three years. 

" I've got something for Elfrida too," said 
Aunt Edith. 

It was a book — a red book with gold 
pictures on back and cover — and it was 
called "The Amulet" 

"And now to supper," said Aunt Edith. 
" Roast chicken. And gooseberry pie. And 

To the children, accustomed to the mild 
uninterestingness of bread and milk for 
supper, this seemed the crowning wonder of 
the day. And what a day it had been ! 

And while they ate the aunt told them of 
her day. 

"It really is a ship," she said, "and the 
best thing it brings is that we sha'n't let 
lodgings any more." 

" Hurrah ! " was the natural response. 

" And we shall have more money to spend 
and be more comfortable. And you can go 
to a really nice school. And where do you 
think we're going to live ? " 

" Not," said Elfrida, in a whisper, " not at 
the castle?" 

" Why, how did you guess ? " 

Elfrida looked at Edred. He hastily 
swallowed a large mouthful of chicken to say, 
"Auntie, I do hope you won't mind. We 
went to Arden to-day. You said we might 
go this year." 

Then the whole story came out — yes, quite 
all, up to the saying of the spell. 

Aunt Edith laughed, and Edred said 
quickly : — 

" That's all the story, auntie. And I am 
Lord Arden, aren't I ? " 

" Yes," the aunt answered, gravely. " You 
are Lord Arden." 

" Oh, ripping ! " cried Edred, with so 
joyous a face that his aunt put away a little 
sermon she had got ready in the train on 
the duties of the English aristocracy — that 
would keep, she thought. 

" How would you like," asked the aunt, 
" to go over and live at the castle now ? " 


" No, no," she laughed ; " next week. 
You see, I must try to let this house, and I 
shall be very busy. Mrs. Honeysett, the old 
lady who used to keep house for your great- 
uncle, wrote to the lawyers and asked if we 
would employ her. I remember her when 
I was a little girl ; she is a dear, and knows 
heaps of old stories. How would you like 
to be there with her while I finish up here 
and get rid of the lodgers ? " 

So that was how it was arranged. The 
aunt stayed at the bow-windowed house to 
arrange the new furniture — for the house was 
to be let furnished — and to pack up the 
beautiful old things that were real Arden 
things, and the children went in the carrier's 
cart, with their clothes and their toys in two 
black boxes, and in their hearts what is called 
" a world of joyous anticipations." 

Mrs. Honeysett received them with a 
pretty, old-fashioned curtsy, which melted 
into an embrace. 

" You're welcome to your home, my lord," 
she said, with an arm round each child, " and 
you too, miss, my dear. Anyone can see 

by K; 



■-1 1 1 1 ti 1 1 1 ■_' 





you're Ardens, both two of you* There was 
always a boy and a girl— a boy and a girl." 
She had a sweet, patient face, with large, pale 
blue eyes that twinkled w F hen she smiled, 
and she almost always smiled when she looked 
at the children. 

The house was much bigger than they had 
found it on that wonderful first day when 
they had acted the part of burglars. There 
was a door covered with faded green baize. 
Mrs. Honeysett pointed it out to them with, 
" Don't you think this is all : there's the 
other house beyond " ; and at the other side 
of that door there was, indeed, the other 

The house they had already seen was neat, 
orderly, " bees- whacked," as Mrs, Honeysett 
said, till every bit of furniture shone like a 
mirror or a fond hope. But beyond the 
baize door there were shadows, there was 
dust, and windows draped in cobwebs, before 
which hung curtains tattered and faded* 

The carpets lay in rags on the floors \ on 
the furniture the dust lay thick, and on the 
boards of corridor and staircase ; on the four- 

by V_ 



post beds in the bed- 
chambers the hang- 
ings hung dusty and 
musty — the quilts 
showed the holes eaten 
by moths and mice. 
From the great 
kitchen-hearth, where 
no fire had been this 
very long time, yet 
where still the ashes 
of the last fire lay grey 
and white, a chill air 
came. The place 
smelt damp and felt 

When they had 
opened every door 
and looked at every 
roomful of decayed 
splendour they went 
out and round. Then 
they saw that this was 
a wing built right out 
of the castle — a wing 
with squarish windows, 
with carved drip- 
stones. All the win- 
dows were yellow as 
parchment, with the 
i them by Time and the 
spider. The ivy grew thick round the windows, 
almost hiding some of them altogether, 

"Oh!" cried Elfrida, throwing herself 
down on the turf, " it's too good to be true. 
I can't believe it" 

"What /can't believe/ 1 said Edred, doing 
likewise, " is that precious mole." 

" But we saw it," said Elfrida ; " you can't 
help believing things when you've seen them. 
Have you made up any poetry to call the 
mole with ? " 

11 I've tried. And I've done it." 
" Oh, Edred, you are clever. Do say it." 
Edred slowly said it : — 
M Mole, mole, 
Come out of your hole ; 
I know you're blind, 
But / don't mind." 

Elfrida looked eagerly round her, There 
was the short turf; the castle walls, ivied 
and grey, rose high above her ; pigeons 
circled overhead ; but there was no mole — 
not a hint ot dream or idea of a mole, 

" Edred, J1 said his sister. 


" Did you really make that up? Don't be 
cross, but I do think I've heard something 
like it before," 

" I— I adopted it," said Edred. 





- — r — 

i WFjWI JJ f . 

" Eh ? " 

you seen it in 
books, ' Adop- 
ted from the 
trench'? I 
altered it." 

( * I don't 
believe that'll 
d o . 1 ■ i t j w 

much did you 
alter ? What's the real poetry like ? " 

*' Thf: mole, the mole, 
He lives in a hole. 
The mole is blind ; 
/ don't mind," 

said Edred, sulkily, " Auntie told me it the 
day you went to tea with Mrs. Harrison." 

u I'm sure you ought to make it up all 
yourself, You see, the mole doesn't come." 

" There isn't any mole," said Edred* 

" Let's both think hard. I'm sure I could 
make poetry— if I knew how to begin/' 

Elfrida buried her head in her hands and 
thought till her forehead felt as large as a 
mangel-wurzel and her blood throbbed in it 
like a church clock ticking. 

"Will this do?" she said at last, lifting 
her head from her hands and her elbows 
from the grass J there were deep dents and 
lines on her elbows made by the grass stalks 
she had leaned on so long. 

u Spit it out," said Edred. 

Thus encouraged, Elfrida said, very slowly 
and carefully, " * Oh, Mouldiwarp ' — I think it 
would rather be called that than mole, don't 
you ? — * Oh, Mouldiwarp, do please come out 


and show us how to set about it ' — that means 
the treasure. I hope it'll understand-" 

u That's not poetry," said Edred. 

u Yes, it is, if you say it right on— 

Oh, Mouldiwarp, do please come out 
And show us how to set about 

u There ought to be some more," said 
Edred — rather impressed, all the same, 

"There is," said Elfrida. "Oh, wait a 
minute— I shall remember directly. It — 
what I mean is, how to find the treasure 
and make Edred brave and wise and kind." 

11 There wasn't anything about kind, I'm 
kind enough if it comes to that," said Lord 

11 Oh, I know you are ; but poetry has to 
rhyme — you know it has, I expect poets 
often have to say what they don't mean 
because of that." 

41 Well, say it straight through," said Edred, 
and Elfrida said, obediently : — 

M Oh, Mouldiwarp, do please come out, 
And show us how \o set about 
It. What I mean is how to find 
The treasure , and make Edred brave and wise 
and kind, 
I'll write it down if you've got a pencil" 

Edred produced a piece of red chalk, 
but he had no paper, so Elfrida had to 
stretch out her white petticoat, put a big 
stone on the hem, and hold it out tightly with 
both hands, while Edred wrote at her dictation. 

Then Edred studiously repeated the lines 
again and again, as he was accustomed to 
repeat "The Battle of Ivry," till at last lie 
was able to stand up and say : — 

11 Oh, Mouldiwarp, do please come out, 
And show me how to set about 
IL What I mean is how to find 
The treasure, and make me brave and wise ■ 

If you don't mind," he added. 

And instantly there was the white mole. 

11 What do you want now ? " it said, very 
crossly indeed. "And call that poetry ! " 
Original from 




" It's the first I ever made," said Elfrida 
of the hot ears. " Perhaps it'll be better 
next time." 

" We want you to do what the spell says," 
said Edred. 

" Make you brave and wise ? . That can't 
be done all in a minute. That's a long job, 
that is," said the mole, viciously. 

" Don't be so cross, dear," said Elfrida ; 
" and if it's going to be so long hadn't you 
better begin ? " 

" I ain't agoin' to do no more'n my share," 
said the mole, somewhat softened though, 
perhaps by the " dear." " You tell me what 
you want, and p'r'aps I'll do it" 

" I know what I want," said Edred, " but 
I don't know whether you can do it." 

" Ha ! " laughed the mole, contemptuously. 

" 1 got it out of a book Elfrida got on my 
birthday," Edred said. " The children in it 
went into the past. I'd like to go into the 
past — and find that treasure ! " 

" Choose your period," said the mole, 

" Choose ? " 

"Your period. What time you'd like to 
go back to. If you don't choose before I've 
counted ten it's all off. One, two, three, 
four " 

It counted ten through a blank silence. 

"Nine, ten," it ended. "Oh, very well, 
den, you'll have to take your luck, that's all." 

" Bother ! " said Edred. " I couldn't think 
of anything except all the dates of all the 
Kings of England all at once." 

" Lucky to know 'em," said the mole, and 
so plainly not believing that he did know 
them that Edred found himself saying under 
his breath: "William the First, 1066; 
William the Second, 1087 ; Henry the First, 
1 100." 

The mole yawned, which, of course, was 
very rude of it 

" Don't be cross, dear," said Elfrida, again ; 
" you help us your own way." 

" Now you're talking," said the mole, 
which, of course, Elfrida knew. " Well, I'll 
tell ee what. Don't you be nasty to each 
other for a whole day, and den " 

" You needn't talk," said Edred, still under 
his breath. 

" Very well," said the mole, whose ears 
were sharper than his eyes. " I won't" 

"Oh, don't," sighed Elfrida; "what is 
it we are to do when we've been nice to each 
other for a whole day ? " 

" Well, when you've done dat," said the 
mole, " look for the door." 

" What door ? " asked Elfrida. 

" The door," said the mole. 

44 But where is it ? " Edred asked. 

"In the house it be, of course," said the 
mole. " Where else to gracious should it 
be ? " 

And it ran with mouse-like quickness 
across the grass and vanished down what 
looked like a rabbit-hole. 

"Now," said Elfrida, triumphantly, "you've 
got to believe in the mole." 

44 Yes," said Edred, "and you've got to 
be nice to me for a whole day, or it's no use 
my believing." 

44 Aren't I generally nice ? " the girl pleaded, 
and her lips trembled. 

44 Yes," said her brother. "Yes, Lady 
Arden ; and now I'm going to be nice, too. 
And where shall we look for the door ? " 

This problem occupied them till tea-time. 
After tea they decided to paint — with the new 
paint-box and the beautiful new brushes. 
Elfrida wanted to paint Mr. Millar's illustra- 
tions in * 4 The Amulet," and Edred wanted to 
paint them, too. This could not be, as you 
will see if you have the book. Edred con- 
tended that they were his paints. Elfrida 
reminded him that it was her book. The 
heated discussion that followed ended quite 
suddenly and breathlessly. 

44 / wouldn't be a selfish pig," said Edred. 

44 No more would I," said Elfrida. " Oh, 
Edred, is this being nice to each other for 
twenty-four hours ? " 

" Oh," said Edred " Yes— well— all right 
Never mind. We'll begin again to-morrow." 

But it is much more difficult than you 
would think to be really nice to your brother 
or sister for a whole day. Three days passed 
before the two Ardens could succeed in this 
seemingly so simple thing. The days were 
not dull ones at all. There were beautiful 
things in them that I wish I had time to tell 
you about — such as climbings and discoveries 
and books with pictures, and a bureau with a 
secret drawer. It had nothing in it but a 
farthing and a bit of red tape — secret drawers 
never have — but it was a very nice secret 
drawer for all that 

And at last a day came when each held its 
temper with a strong bit. They began by 
being very polite to each other, and presently 
it grew to seem like a game. 

44 Let's call each other Lord and Lady 
Arden all the time and pretend that we're no 
relation," said Elfrida. And really that helped 
tremendously. It is wonderful how much 
more polite you can be to outsiders than you 
can to your relations, who are, when all's said 
and done, the people you really love. 

by Google 





As the time went on they grew more and 
more careful. It was like building a house 
of cards. As hour after hour of blameless 
politeness was added to the score, they grew 
almost breathlessly anxious. If, after all 
this, some natural annoyance should spoil 
everything ! 

" I do hope," said Edred, towards tea-time, 
" that you won't go and do anything tire- 

"Oh, dear, I do hope I sha'n't," said 

And this was just like them both. 

After tea they decided to read so as to 
lessen the chances of failure. They both 
wanted the same book — " Treasure Island " it 
was — and for a moment the niceness of both 
hung in the balance. Then, with one accord, 
each said, " No — you have it ! " and the 
matter ended in each taking a quite different 
book that it didn't particularly want to read. 

At bed-time Edred lighted Elfrida's candle 
for her, and she picked up the matches for 
him when he dropped them. 

" Bless their hearts," said Mrs. Honeysett, 
in the passage. 

They parted with the heartfelt remark, 
"We've done it this time." 

Now, of course, in the three days when 
they had not succeeded in being nice to each 
other they had " looked for the door," but as 
the mole had not said where it was, nor what 
kind of a door, their search had not been 
fruitful. Most of the rooms had several 
doors, and as there were a good many rooms 
the doors numbered fifty-seven, counting 
cupboards. And among these there was 
none that seemed worthy to rank above all 
others as the door. Many of the doors in 
the old part of the housfc looked as though 
they might be the one, but since there were 
many no one could be sure. 

" How shall we know ? " Edred asked, 
next morning, through his egg and toast. 

" I suppose it's like when people fall in 
love," said Elfrida, through hers. " You see 
the door and you know at once that it is the 
only princess in the world for you — I mean 
door, of course," she added. 

And then, when breakfast was over, they 
stood up and looked at each other. 

" Now," they said together. 

" We'll look at every single door. Perhaps 
there'll be magic writing on the door come 
out in the night, like mushrooms," said the 

" More likely that mole was kidding us," 
said the boy. 

"Oh, no" said the girl; "and we must 

look at them on both sides — every one. Oh, 
I do wonder what's inside the door, don't 

" Bluebeard's wives, I shouldn't wonder," 
said the boy, " with their heads " 

" If you don't stop," said the girl, putting 
her fingers in her ears, " I won't look for the 
door at all. No ; I don't mean to be aggra- 
vating; but please don't. You know I 
hate it." 

" Come on," said Edred ; " and don't be a 
duffer, old chap." 

The proudest moments of Elfrida's life 
were when her brother called her "old 

So they went and looked at all the fifty- 
seven doors, one after the other, on the 
inside and on the outside ; some were painted 
and some were grained, some were carved and 
some were plain, some had panels and others 
had none, but they were all of them doors — 
just doors and nothing more. Each was just 
a door, and none of them had any claim at 
all to be spoken of as THE door. And 
when they had looked at all the fifty-seven 
on the inside and on the outside, there was 
nothing for it but to look again. So they 
looked again, very carefully, to see if there 
were any magic writing that they hadn't 
happened to notice. And there wasn't. So 
then they began to tap the walls to try and 
discover a door with a secret spring. And 
that was no good either. 

"There isn't any old door," said Edred. 
" I told you that mole was pulling our leg." 

" I'm sure there is," said Elfrida, sniffing 
a little from prolonged anxiety. "Look 
here — let's play it like the willing game. Ill 
be blindfolded, and you hold my hand and 
will me to find the door." 

" I don't believe in the willing game," said 
Edred, disagreeably. 

" No more do I," said Elfrida ; " but we 
must do something, you know. It's no good 
sitting down and saying there isn't any door." 

"There isn't, all the same," said Edred. 
"Well— come on." 

So Elfrida was blindfolded with her best 
silk scarf — the blue one with the hem- 
stitched ends — and Edred took her hands. 
And at once — this happened in the library, 
where they had found the spell — Elfrida 
began to walk, in a steady and purposeful^ 
way. She crossed the hall and went through 
the door into the other house; went along 
its corridor and up its dusty stairs — up, and 
up, and up 

" We've looked everywhere here," said 
Edred, but Elfrida did not stop for that 

by Google 

II I I '.' I 1 1 




"I know Vm going straight to it," she 
said, " Oh, do try to believe a little, or we 
shall never find anything/' and went on 
along the corridor, where the spiders had 
draped the picture-frames with their grey 
crape curtains. There were many doors in 
this corridor, and Elfrida stopped suddenly 
at one of them — a door just like the others, 

"This/' she said, putting her hand out till 
it rested on the panel, all spread out like a 
pink starfish — " this is the door." 

She felt for the handle, turned it, and went 
in, still pulling at Edred's 
hand and with the blue 
scarf still on her eyes. 
Edred followed. 

w I say ! " he said, 
and then she pulled off 
the scarf. 

The door closed it- 
self very softly behind 

They were in a long 
attic room close under 
the roof— a room that 
they had certainly, in 
all their explorings, 
never found before. 
There were no windows 
— the roof sloped down 
at the sides almost to 
the floor. There was 
no ceiling — old worm- 
eaten roof-beams showed 
the tiles between — and 
old tie-beams crossed it 
so that as you stared up 
it looked like a great 
ladder w T ith the rungs 
very far apart. Here 
and there through the 
chinks of the tiles a 
golden dusty light fil- 
tered in, and outside 
was the "tick, tick" of 
moving pigeon feet, the rustling of pigeon 
feathers, the " cooroocoo " of pigeon voices. 
The long room was almost bare ; only along 
each side, close under the roof, was a row of 
chests, and no two chests were alike. 

"Oh ! " said Edred. "I'm good and wise 
now. I feel it inside me. So now we've got 
the treasure. We'll rebuild the castle." 

He got to tiae nearest chest and pushed at 
the Ud, but Elfrida had to push too before he 
could get the heavy thing up. And when it 
was up—alas ! there was no treasure in the 
chest — only folded clothes. 

So then they tried the next chest. 


by Google 

And in all the chests there was no treasure 
at all — only clothes. Clothes, and more 
clothes again. 

" Well, never mind," said Elfrida, trying to 
speak comfortingly, "They'll be splendid for 
dressing up in." 

"That's all very well/' said Edred, " but I 
want the treasure." 

"Perhaps," said Elfrida, with some want 
of tact, M perhaps you're not ' good and wise ' 
yet. Not quitt^ I mean," she hastened to 
add. " Let's take the things out and look 
at them. Perhaps the 
treasure's in the pockets," 
But it wasn't — not a 
bit of it ; not even a 

The clothes in the 
first chest were full riding 
cloaks and long boots, 
short - waisted dresses 
and em broidered scarves, 
tight breeches and coats 
with bright buttons. 
There were very inter- 
esting waistcoats and 
odd -shaped hats. One, 
a little green one, looked 
as though it would fit 
Edred. He tried it on. 
And at the same minute 
Elfrida lifted out a little 
straw bonnet trimmed 
with blue ribbons. 
"Here's one for me," 
she said> and put it on, 

And then it seemed as 
though the cooing and 
rustling of the pigeons 
came right through the 
roof and crowded round 
them in a sort of dazzle- 
ment and cloud of 
pigeon noises, The pigeon 
noises came closer and 
closer, and garments were drawn out of the 
chest and put on the children. They did 
not know how it was done ; but pre- 
sently there the two children stood in 
clothing such as they had never worn* 
Elfrida had a short-waisted dress of green- 
sprigged cotton, with a long and skimpy 
skirt. Her square - toed brown shoes were 
gone, and her feet wore flimsy sandals. Her 
arms were bare, and a muslin handkerchief 
was folded across her chest, Edred wore 
very white trousers that came right up under 
his arms, a blue coat with brass buttons, and 
a sort of frilly tucker round his neck. 




" I say ! " they both said ? when the pigeon 
noises had taken themselves away, and they 
were face to face in the long, empty room, 

1( That was funny/' Edred added; "let's 
go down and show Mrs. Honeysett" 

The children ran down the passage to the 
parlour and burst open the door. 

There sat a very upright old lady and a 
very upright old gentleman, and their clothes 
were not the clothes people wear nowadays. 
They were like the clothes the children them- 
selves had on. The old lady was sewing a 
fine white frill ; the old gentleman was reading 
what looked like a page from some newspaper. 

'* You will commit to memory the whole of 
the one commencing * Happy the child whose 
youngest years receive instruction well. 1 And 
you will be deprived of pudding with your 
dinners," remarked the old lady. 

**I say ! " murmured Edred. 

"Oh, tmsit* said Elfrida, as the old lady 
carried her cambric frills to the window-seat. 

" But I won't stand it," whispered Edred. 
"I'll tell Aunt Edith— and who's sie t any 
how ? " 

He glowered at the old lady across the 
speckless carpet, 

"Oh, don't you understand J" Elfrida 


" Hoity-toity/' said 
severely ; "we forget our 

the old lady, very 
manners, I think. 
Make your curtsy, miss*" 

Elfrida made one as well as she could. 

" To teach you respect for your elders/' 
said the old gentleman, " you had best get 
by heart one of Dr, Watts's Divine and Moral 
Songs. I leave you to see to it, my lady/ 

He laid down the sheet and went out, very* 
straight and dignified, and without quite 
knowing how it happened the children found 
themselves sitting on two little stools in a 
room that was, and was not t the parlour in 
which they had had that hopeful eggy break - 
fast t each holding a marbled side of Dr. 
Watts's Hymns. 

whispered back. " WeVe got turned into 
somebody else, and she's our grandmamma." 

I don't know how it was that Elfrida saw 
this and Edred didn't. Perhaps because she 
was a girl, perhaps because she was two 
years older than he. 

" Edred," said the old lady, " hand me the 

She pointed at the sheet on the brightly- 
polished table. He got up and carried 
it across to her, and as he did so he 
glanced at it and saw : — 

June 1 6, 1807. 

And then he knew, as well as Elfrida did, 
exactly where he was, and when. 

by Google 

(To be continued). 

Original from 

The Lesson of a Jet of Water, 

By L>r. Gustave Le Bon. 


N the neighbourhood of Grenoble 
there is a manufactory which 
employs the water held in a 
reservoir situated some sixteen 
hundred feet up on the mountain. 
The water is brought to the manufactory by 
a vertical pipe of this length and somewhat 


less than an inch in diameter, the force of the 
falling jet being employed to drive a turbine. 
If, now, by means of a lateral pipe, the jet 
be allowed to escape, as shown in the accom- 
panying illustration and diagram, it spurts up 
with such force into the air, owing to the 
velocity imparted to it by its long previous 

Vol. xijtv.— 32, 





fall, that a strong man armed with a sword 
may hack at it until he is exhausted or 
splinters his weapon into fragments, with 
out making the slightest impression upon 
it. The weapon is checked as effectually 
as if it had struck against a bar of iron. 
And yet this jet of water which is so in 
vulnerable to the keen-edged steel is but of 
the thickness of a man's thumb The speed 
at which the jet moves, moreover, is, relatively 
speaking, by no means great , it does not 
much exceed one hundred yards a second — 
that is to say, about the tenth of the speed 
of a cannon ball. 

If it were possible to impart to a sheet of 
water an inch in thick- 
ness sufficient velo 
city, the most power- 
ful bomb-shells would 
be immediately 
stopped in their flight 
when they came into 
contact with it ; it 
would offer the same 
resistance as the 
steel armour of the 
most modern battle 
ship ! 

T his striking 
example of the jet of 
water illustrates one 
of the most important 
theories of modern 
science, i.e., that 
hardness and rigidity 
of matter are a result 
of the speed with 
which its particles are 
in motion. 

To the scientifi- 
cally-trained intellect 
of the savant, the 

theory, now almost universally held, that 
all matter, whether in the form of a rock, 
a block of steel, a diamond, or a drop of 
water, consists in its ultimate analysis of 
inconceivably minute particles of ether, each 
rotating in its allotted sphere with incon- 
ceivable; velocity, presents no insurmountable 
difficu'ty. The atoms of which all matter 
is composed are, in fact, miniature solar 
systems. Each atom, on this hypothesis, is 
composed of a certain number of particles 
charged with positive electricity, round 
which there gravitate, as the planets do 
round the sun, at least a thousand other 
particles charged with negative electricity. 
It is to this fact — namely, that it is com- 
posed of particles endowed with a rotating 











movement of enormous velocity — that 
matter is now held to be indebted for its 
stability and its very existence as matter at 
all. Were the movement of its rotating 
particles to stop, matter would at once 
vanish and transform itself into invisible 
ethereal dust. As everybody is aware, the 
bicycle in motion and the top rotating on its 
point are both indebted for their stability to a 
similar movement. Stop the movement, and 
at once bicycle and top fall to the ground. 
Delicate laboratory experiments, the details 
of which it would be out of place to give 
here, all point to and seem actually to 
demonstrate these conclusions beyond any 

reasonable doubt. 

That the relative 
rigidity of the rock 
and the hardness of 
the diamond are due 
to the different speeds 
at which their infini- 
tesimal particles are 
revolving, under the 
influence of natural 
forces at present be- 
yond our comprehen- 
sion, may, in fact, be 
considered proved. 
If by any means we 
can endow with suf- 
ficient velocity liquid 
or even gaseous 
molecules, they 
acquire a rigidity and 
a great force of pro- 
jection. In the case 
of liquid the jet of 
water has well de- 
monstrated this. 

So far as the rigi- 
dity of rapidly-moving 
gaseous particles is concerned, it is somewhat 
more difficult to give an experimental demon- 
stration, the velocity necessary to transform 
so attenuated a form of matter into what is, 
to all intents and purposes, a solid being 
tremendous. There are, however, several 
well-known instances of this transformation. 
Numerous observations, for example, lead us 
to suppose that when a sheet of steel is 
traversed by the bullet from a modern rifle, 
travelling at the rate of eight hundred yards 
or so a second, the steel is pierced not in 
reality by the bullet, but by the particles of 
air which the bullet drives before it. The 
bullet, in fact, would appear to traverse the 
steel without actually coming into direct con- 
tact with it at all. 





It has even been maintained —though it 
must be admitted that here the observations 
made are somewhat lacking in precision — 
that a smooth disc, if it could be made to 
revolve with sufficient rapidity, might cut 
through a block of iron without touching it. 
The iron here, again, would be cut, not by 
the di-r itself, but by the particles of air 
carried round by the edge of the rotating 
disc at a sufficient velocity to render them 
rigid. Considerations such as these may 
enable us to comprehend how velocity may 
produce rigidity. It matters little whether 
the velocity imparted to a body throws it 
forward in a straight line or whether it causes 
it to rotate rapidly on its own axis ; in each 
case the result for all practical purposes, is 

A rotating l>ody possesses, by the very fact 
of its speed, an energy proportional to that 
speed* It is consequently an immense reser- 
voir of energy. When we know the mass of 
any body and its velocity we can very easily 
calculate how much energy it possesses, 
experience having proved that such energy 
is equal to half the product of the mass and 
the square of the speed. 

If it were possible — as it may be some 
day — to entirely dissociate the particles of 
matter, the amount of energy we should then 
have at our disposal would be incalculable. 
The energy, for instance, contained in a 
small piece of bronze no larger than half a 
farthing would represent about seven thou- 
sand million horse- power— that is to say, 
sufficient force to drive an immense goods 
train four times round the circumference of 
the globe. To obtain a similar result from 
the combustion of coal we should have to 
expend something like three thousand pounds* 
We may thus consider that three thousand 
pounds represents the commercial value of 
the energy contained in half a farthing. 

Unfortunately, we at present are only able 
to dissociate completely quite infinitesimal 
portions of matter— a few thousandth parts 
of a milligram at the outside. There are 
indications, however, that the day is now not 
very remote when some means may be dis- 
covered to easily dissociate appreciable 
quantities of matter. When that day does 
come we shall be able to draw upon a source 
of energy immeasurably superior to that 
which we now obtain by the laborious extrac- 
tion of coal from the bowels of the earth. 
Need I add that the change such a state of 
things may produce in the conditions of 
human existence is likely to be more radical 
than any we can even imagine at presenL ? 

All the great natural forces, notably 
electricity and solar heat, result from the 
liberation of intra atomic energy. The pro- 
vision of such energy, doubtless, is immense, 
but, however immense it may be, it cannot 
last indefinitely. Slowly but surely, in liberat- 
ing its energy in the form of heat and 
electricity, matter necessarily ages. In the 
incandescent stars, such as our sun, the 
quantity of energy is naturally far greater than 
in those globes in which the cooling process 
has proceeded farther, such as the earth. 

A consequence of this expenditure of 
intra-atomic energy is a diminution in the 
velocity with which the elements of the 
atoms rotate. Let such velocity be reduced 
below a certain point, the atoms would lose 
all their stability, in which case there must 
ensue a veritable explosion, thus putting a 
final term to a more or less prolonged period 
of old age. 

It may be that the temporary stars which 
from time to time we see appear and dis- 
appear in the firmament are the products of 
the sudden explosion of worlds, the substance 
of which has reached a limit of age which 
they cannot pass without j)erishing. 

by Google 

Original from 


[ We shall bt ^iad to r&teivz Contributions to this section^ and to pay for such as are atctpttd.\ 
Copyright, JOuS, by George Newnes, Limited. 


HK R E is a photo- 
graph of a 
moused nest which 
was found beneath 
l he keyboard of my 
pjanu when I he keys 
were removed for 
renovation. The nest 
was composed of 
pieces i>f fell, lace 
curtain, etc*, and 
several young mice 
were found in it, 
The piano had lx*en 
in constant usc> 
which had not appa- 
rency disturbed the 
mice at all. The 
ph olograph was 
taken By Mr- Jack- 
Son, — Mr. T. F. Charlton, J J, White Street, Coventry. 


THE accompanying photograph does not represent 
the sea serpent or a fossil creature, as might at 
first be supposed* Jt was, however, procured beneath 

motion of the waves 
and the refractive 
power of the water 
caused the coral to 
appear to sway slowly 
I jack and forth, and it 
was with difficulty 
that a diving boy- 
could l>e induced to 
go down for it, 
Among many thou- 
sands of specimens 
seen and collected 
by the writer no 
other has ever been 
met wiih which re- 
sembled a creature's 
head in so striking a 
manner. — Mr, A* H. 
Verrill, New Haven, 
Conn., U.S. A, 

the surface of the sea in aljout three fathoms of water 
at ihe Island of Dominica, B.W.I. It is in reality a 
branch of l he common West Indian madrepore coral, 
which by a freak of Nature has jinmhiu.-cI \\w form of 
an animal's head, closely resembling the accepted 
appearance of the sea -serpen I — crest , open jaws, and 
eyes complete. Remarkable as is the resemblance in 
the photograph, the coral when seen in its native state, 
projecting from a r<n:k at the liottom of the sta, pre- 
sented an even mote surprising aspect* The slight 

Digitized by v.* OC 


THESE photos* show the power of fungi in raising 
bricks from a stable floor which had been laid 
on a level bed of mortar. The pictures are taken from 
east and west respectively. In the lirsi photograph it 
will be seen that a second brick is being similarly 
raised. The second one was taken about two or three 
days after, showing the fungus in full bloom. The 
coachman, who noticed the first brick gradually 
rising from the surrounding bricks, was much pulled, 
as it was cjuue contrary to the common experience of 
seeing bricks sinking from tru j ir original level owing 
to a subsidence of the soil- On raising the brick he 
discovered the cause. — The Kev, W, E. Tourlel,, 
Holt, R-S + 0. t Norfolk. 





I SEND you a photograph 1 took last summer. 
IF you think it funny enough lo be inserted 
I should be happy to see it appear in your 
magazine, The picture explains itself, — Mr* Alfred 
Ravin, 3i s Hue Cier, I'aris* 


HE key shown embedded in this piece of wood 
was hung by a 


THE following photograph illustrates a most 
remarkable accident which happened to a 
bath, which parted suddenly with a loud report as 
the hot water was Bowing in. Luckily no one was 
in the bath aL the lime, but your readers will easily 
imagine the mess caused as the water found its way all 

over the floor and through ihe ceiling of the room 
below. Although the bath was a new one> it had been 
used for several weeks without showing anftiign of a 
flaw, — Mr. G. IF. Heapy, 3; Madeley Street, Derby. 


^T^HE ne*l photograph represents the source of the 
1 Danube, which has its origin in the Black 
Forest. The man in the centre is putting his finger 
over the pipe which carries the water into the basin, 
thus actually stopping the source of the Danube,— 
Mr. R. Krancklyn, 7, Avenue des Alpes, Ijiusannc, 

relative of mine on the 
twig of an apple-tree 
about twenty-one years 
ago, in an orchard in 
the County of Sussex. 
One night when he 
wanted it he went to 
the tree, but could 
not find il, and about 
sixteen years a her 
that, when he was cut- 
ting dead wood out of 
the same apple -tret-, 
he came across his 
key with the handle 
quite overgrown with 
wood, The photo- 
graph was taken by 
Mr. 1. Wheeler.— Mr. 
i\. Duffin, [62, New 
Street, Horsham, 





ABOUT l wo years ago Mr, Geo, If at her ley* of 
Perm btreer, Oakham, missed the ornament 
shown in the photograph. He thought it prul*able < 
I ha* one of his children had been playing with it 
Mid leisl it. However, it was not forthcoming, and 
he forgot ;i] I about it alter a time. While digging 
potatoes last year he suddenly came acroes it grasp- 
ing the potato, as in the photograph. Shoeing it 
10 one of the masters, he was persuaded lo ask me 
to take a photograph of it and send it to you. — 
Mr. J. H. Jerwoode, School House, Oakham. 


THIS curious claw belonged to a lobster which 
came up lo Gov's well-known shop in Broad 
Street in the usual way of business. It was rescued, 
however, as being a most remarkable specimen. 
There is «n outgrow th representing a pair of nip- 

forward — j. if., away from the hand. The reverse 
action happens, however ; the cycle moves backwards 
and the pedal forwards, in the opposite directum to 
which it is being pulled. The explanation is that 
the whole machine is Lei rig pulled hack wards and the 
rear wheel drives the pedals, instead of being driven 
by them, as in riding— Mr. Oliver Ilensley, 123, 
Edwards Road, Erdington, Birmingham. 


TI I K interest in this photograph of a conjurer is that 
it reveals the Bocret of his trick in producing two 
guinea-pigs from one. His method of procedure is 
10 first place a pig upon the table, covering it with 
his hat : he then lifts it to show there js only one 
gu inea -pig there, and before replacing the hat he 
removes the pig from the table and places it on the 
^rass. On returning the hat to the table he explains 
that by taking one little hair fnmi 1 he pig on the 
grass, an- 1 placing it on the top of the hat and making 
a pass with his wand, he is able to produce the second 

pers on the little joint which works against Ihe big 
one, but no trace of an extra hinge is apparent. - 
Mr. Hugh Main, Aim ndale, Buckingham Koud, 
S. Wood ford t rs'-E. 


THE sketch reproduced 
here illustrates an interest- 
ing experiment which can be 
tried with any bicycle. The 
cycle is placet! on the ground 
wiLh the pedals in the position 
shown, with a cord attached to 
the lower pedal. If the cord 
be pulled from the rear of the 
cycle, one would naturally 
expect to see the machine go 

pig, which he docs upon lifting the hat. The ex- 
planation is that, when lifting the hat to .show there 
is only one pie; underneath, the action being a naiural 
and momentary one, it is not noticed by the spec- 
tators that the operator brings the hat lo ihe corner of 
his coat, which the photograph shows him in the act of 
doing. I here he has another pig concealed, which 
he easily grasps from the outside of his hat, it being a 
soft one, so that when he apparently return^, the 

empty hat to the 
I able he really has 
the second pig inside 
it. [1 was nol until 
I had developed the 
plate that f realized 
thai the camera had 
revealed the secret 
of the trick.- Mr. 
J. E. Willis. 

Bffginal from 




no knowledge of our 
language, evidently 
thought it policy to 

write the fullest ad- 
dress possible, with 
the result that the 
complimentary end- 
ing appears as the 
name and mv friend's 
name as purl of the 
address, the whole 
finishing with E« G, 
instead of E, C — 
Mr, J J. R. RoKers, 
112, Craven Park 
Road, II a r 1 e s - 
den, N.W. 


ON first glancing at this drawing it would appear 
I hat the distance between X and V is greater 
than I hat between M and N. However, if both 
distances are measured, it will he found that they are 
equal, each being one-third of an inch in width. — 
Mr. Ivan A. lid ward es Evans, King way Vicarage, 
Altrincham, Cheshire. 



$■**'- 1 





IN April, 1905, I was travelling in South Africa 
and visited the Premier 
Diamond Mines. It was not 
long after the Cullinan diamond, 
which was presented to the King 
recent ly t was found, and the 
exact spot was pointed out lo 
me ; I also saw Mr. Cullinan, 
and was told that he was paid 
two thousand pounds for his 
magnificent fina + The actual 
spfit where the diamond was 
found is shown on the photograph 
liy means of a cmss — Miss Kerr, 
6, Liverpool Road, Laling, W, 


I SEND you an envelope the 
address on which is rather 
curious* The envelope was re- 
ceived by a friend of mine who 
had a slight business connection 
with a Frenchman who, having 


IHECt to send you a photograph of a rose 
(William Allan Richardson) which was worn as 
a hut ton -hole last June, After the bloom had died 
and was thrown a way the remaining stalk was care- 
lessly stuck in In a Hower-pot, and at the end of 
Octolter it had struck and a^ain bloomed, measur- 
ing two and a half inches across. This I photo- 
graphed on Oc loiter 31SL- Mr* Cecil Walter, 89, 
Krocklev Grove, Croft on Park. 








THE above problem consists in placing four 
queens and a casile so that they command 
every square on the board. It is an improvement by 
Mr- Black hurne, the British Chess Champion, on a 
problem by Mr. Sam Loyd, who used five queens fnr 
the same purpose. The Solution will appear in our 
next number. 


ABOUT three months ago I received JW a tip 
this sixpence which I send you. You will 
notice that a small pearl has 
been inset by a clever jewel- 
ler. It is my firm l>elief that 
the owner of ihe coin gave it 
to me by mistake, as il very 
probably is a keepsake of 
some sort* If you care to 
publish a photograph of it 
I shall l>e glad to restore I he 
coin to the owner if he or 
she cares lo have it back. 
Perhaps ihe owner may turn out lo be one of your 
readers? — Mr* Frederick Marten, Jun., 15, Shap 
Street, Pearson Street, KingsJand Road, N. E, 


SEND you I wo photographs, one of ihe front, 
ihe other of ihe back of a watch made by a 

Russian peasant, entirely of wood, including the 
works, chain, case, etc* When given lo me it used 
to keep fairly good time. The photograph was taken 
by Mr. Horace Mew, of Shank im, I.U\ — Mr. C* 
Binns, ThornclifT, Sandown, LW, 

Tub Manager 

Dear Sir 

I was eomining yesterday from Mu- 
ssoorie. I holt at half way dak bunga- 
low for my afternoon tea as time Was 
4 p, m, I saw there six European lads 
runs from the age 18 to 23 years. They 
had * party and ail of them were dri* 
nking ginger ale & lemonades, and 
ofcourse they are eating like curry & 
■rice from soup plates there ware two 
plates like that and to my great surp-p 
riced what I saw if that they are 
eating like dhandar. Notbigbut con* 
versation lozenge*. At once is struck 
me why should I not give in Gup^Sup, 
I therefore sujeat as follows, that in 
your tit-bit of India kindly put this 
question in tnglish. as answer must 
get in english & to the right man, I 
will give revord of rupees 7*8 ofcourse 
this can be given to only one man & 
not to every usal lotry system 
if you agree to me kindly write me 
at the following adiets I will send 
you by M. 0, fls 7-8 from before hand. 

Yourse faithfully. 


T ENCLOSE another sample of English as she is 
murdered. I came across this funnily- worded 
letter in an Indian vernacular journal, The word 
''Gup-Sup" in Hindustani is equivalent to'* gossip'' 
iti English.— Mr. C. II. K rooks, Sea View ', Queen's 
Road, Rurraehee, India. 


Original from 

C^f\r%ct\i* Original from 



by Google 

{Stt page 250.) 

Original from 




MARCH, 1908. 

No. 207. 



«?1 *J was the fourth day of the siege. 
^^4 Ammunition and provisions were 
both nearing an end. When the Boxer in- 
surrection had suddenly flamed up, and 
roared, like a fire in dry grass, across 
Northern China, the few scattered Euro- 
peans in the outlying provinces had huddled 
together at the nearest defensible post and 
had held on for dear life until rescue came 
— or until it did not. In the latter case, the 
less said about their fate the better. In 
the former, they came back into the world of 
men with that upon their faces which told 
that they had looked very closely upon such 
an end as would ever haunt their dreams. 

Ichau was only fifty miles from the coast, 
and there was a European squadron in the 
Gulf of Liantong. Therefore the absurd 
little garrison, consisting of native Christians 
and railway men, with a German officer to 
command them and five civilian Europeans 
to support him, held on bravely with the 
conviction that help must soon come sweeping 
down to them from the low hills to eastward. 
The sea was visible from those hills, and on 
the sea were their armed countrymen. Surely, 
then, they could not feel deserted. With brave 
hearts they manned the loopholes in the 
crumbling brick wails outlining the tiny 
European quarter, and they fired away 
briskly, if ineffectively, at the rapidly 
advancing sangars of the Boxers. It was 
certain that in another day or so they would 
be at the end of their resources, but then 
it was equally certain that in another day or 
so they must be relieved. It might be a 
little sooner or it might be a little later, but 
there was no one who ever ventured to hint 
that the relief would not arrive in time to 
pluck them out of the fire. Up to Tuesday 
night there was no word of discouragement. 

It is true that on the Wednesday their 

Vol XXXV.— 33. 

robust faith in what was going forward behind 
those eastern hills had weakened a little. 
The grey slopes lay bare and unresponsive 
while the deadly sangars pushed ever nearer, 
so near that the dreadful faces which shrieked 
imprecations at them from time to time over 
the top could be seen in every hideous feature. 
There was not so much of that now since 
young Ainslie, of the Diplomatic service, with 
his neat little 3*3 sporting rifle, had settled 
down in the squat church tower, and had 
devoted his days to abating the nuisance. 
But a silent sangar is an even more impressive 
thing than a clamorous one, and steadily, 
irresistibly, inevitably, the lines of brick and 
rubble drew closer. Soon they would be so 
near that one rush would assuredly carry the 
frantic swordsmen over the frail entrench- 
ment. It all seemed very black upon the 
Wednesday evening. Colonel Dresler, the 
German ex-infantry soldier, went about with 
an imperturbable face, but a heart of lead. 
Ralston, of the railway, was up half the night 
writing farewell letters. Professor Mercer, 
the old entomologist, was even more silent 
and grimly thoughtful than ever. Ainslie had 
lost some of his flippancy. On the whole, 
the ladies — Miss Sinclair, the nurse of the 
Scotch Mission, Mrs. Patterson, and her 
pretty daughter Jessie, were the most com- 
posed of the party. Father Pierre, of the 
French Mission, was also unaffected, as was 
natural to one who regarded martyrdom 
as a glorious crown. The Boxers yelling 
for his blood beyond the walls disturbed him 
less than his forced association with the 
sturdy Scotch Presbyterian presence of 
Mr. Patterson, with whom for ten years he 
had wrangled over the souls of the natives. 
They passed each other now in the corridors 

Copyright, 1908, by Arthur Conan Doyle, in the United Staits of America, 




as dog passes cat, and each kept a watchful 
eye upon the other lest even in the trenches 
he might filch some sheep from the rival 
fold, whispering heresy in his ear. 

But the Wednesday night passed without 
a crisis, and on the Thursday all was bright 
once more. It was Ainslie up in the clock 
tower who had first heard the distant thud 
of a gun. Then Dresler heard it, and within 
half an hour it was audible to all— that strong 
iron voice, calling to them from afar and 
bidding them to be of good cheer, since help 
was coming. It was clear that the landing 
party from the squadron was well on its way. 
It would not arrive an hour too soon. The 
cartridges were nearly finished. Their half- 
rations of food would soon dwindle to an 
even more pitiful supply. But what need to 
worry about that now that relief was assured ? 
There would be no attack that day, as most 
of the Boxers could be seen streaming off in 
the direction of the distant firing, and the 
long lines of sangars were silent and deserted. 
They were all able, therefore, to assemble at 
the lunch-table, a merry, talkative party, full 
of that joy of living which sparkles most 
brightly under the imminent shadow of death. 

" The pot of caviare ! " cried Ainslie. 
" Come on, Professor, out with the pot of 
caviare ! " 

" Potz-tausend ! yes," grunted old Dresler. 
11 It is certainly time that we had that famous 

The ladies joined in, and from all parts of 
the long, ill-furnished table there came the 
demand for caviare. 

It was a strange time to ask for such a 
delicacy, but the reason is soon told. 
Professor Mercer, the old Californian ento- 
mologist, had received a jar of caviare in a 
hamper of goods from San Francisco, arriving 
a day or two before the outbreak. In the 
general pooling and distribution of provisions 
this one dainty and three bottles of Lachryma 
Christi from the same hamper had been 
excepted and set aside. By common con- 
sent they were to be reserved for the final 
joyous meal when the end of their peril 
should be in sight. Even as they sat the 
thud-thud of the relieving guns came to 
their ears — more luxurious music to their 
lunch than the most sybaritic restaurant of 
London could have supplied. Before even- 
ing the relief would certainly be there. 
Why, then, should their stale bread not be 
glorified by the treasured caviare? 

But the Professor shook his gnarled old 
head and smiled his inscrutable smile. 

•' Better wait," said he. 

by L^OOgle 

" Wait ! Why wait ? " cried the company. 

" They have still far to come," he answered. 

"They will be here for supper at the 
latest," said Ralston, of the railway — a keen, 
birdlike man, with bright eyes and long, 
projecting nose. "They cannot be more 
than ten miles from us now. If they only 
did two miles an hour it would make them 
due at seven." 

"There is a battle on the way," remarked 
the Colonel. " You will grant two hours or 
three hours for the battle." 

" Not half an hour," cried Ainslie. " They 
will walk through them as if they were not 
there. What can these rascals with their 
matchlocks and swords do against modern 
weapons ? " 

" It depends on who leads the column of 
relief," said Dresler. " If they are fortunate 
enough to have a German officer " 

" An Englishman for my money ! " cried 

" The French commodore is said to be an 
excellent strategist," remarked Father Pierre. 

" I don't see that it matters a toss," cried 
the exuberant Ainslie. " Mr. Mauser and 
Mr. Nordenfeldt are the two men who will 
see us through, and with them on our side no 
leader can go wrong. I tell you they will 
just brush them aside and walk through 
them. So now, Professor, come on with 
that pot of caviare ! " 

But the old scientist was unconvinced. 

" We shall reserve it for supper," said he. 

" After all," said Mr. Patterson, in his slow, 
precise Scottish intonation, "it will be a 
courtesy to our guests — the officers of the 
relief — if we have some palatable food to lay 
before them. I'm in agreement with the Pro- 
fessor that we reserve the caviare for supper." 

The argument appealed to their sense of 
hospitality. There was something pleasantly 
chivalrous, too, in the idea of keeping their 
one little delicacy to give a savour to the 
meal of their preservers. There was no more 
talk of the caviare, 

4 By the way, Professor," said Mr. 
Patterson, " I've only heard to-day that 
this is the second time that you have been 
besieged in this way. I'm sure we should 
all be very interested to hear some details 
of your previous experience." 

The old man's face set very grimly. 

" I was in Sung-tong, in South China, in 
'eighty-nine," said he. 

" It's a very extraordinary coincidence that 
you should twice have been in such a perilous 
situation," said the missionary. "Tell us 
how you were relieved at Sung-tong." 




The shadow deepened upon the weary face. 

" We were not relieved," said he. 

"What! the place fell?" 

44 Yes, it fell." 

44 And you came through alive ? " 

41 1 am a doctor as well as an entomologist. 
They had many wounded ; they spared me." 

44 And the rest?" 

44 Assez ! assez ! " cried the little French 
priest, raising his hand in protest. He had 
been twenty years in China. The Professor 
had said nothing, but there was something, 
some lurking horror, in his dull, grey eyes 
which had turned the ladies pale. 

44 1 am sorry," said the missionary. "I can 
see that it is a painful subject. I should not 
have asked." 

i: No," the Professor answered, slowly. 4I It 
is wiser not to ask. It is better not to speak 
about such things at all. But surely those 
guns are very much nearer ? " 

There could be no doubt of it. After a 
silence the thud-thud had recommenced with 
a lively ripple of rifle-fire playing all round 
that deep bass master-note. It must be just 
at the farther side of the nearest hill. They 
pushed back their chairs and ran out to the 
ramparts. The silent-footed native servants 
came in and cleared the scanty remains from 
the table. But after they had left the old 
Professor sat on there, his massive, grey- 
crowned head leaning upon his hands and 
the same pensive look of horror in his eyes. 
Some ghosts may be laid for years, but when 
they do rise it is not so easy to drive them 
back to their slumbers. The guns had ceased 
outside, but he had not observed it, lost as he 
was in the one supreme and terrible memory 
of his life. 

His thoughts were interrupted at last by 
the entrance of the Commandant. There 
was a complacent smile upon his broad 
German face. 

44 The Kaiser will be pleased," said he, 
rubbing his hands. 44 Yes, certainly it should 
mean a decoration. Defence of Ichau against 
the Boxers by Colonel Dresler, late Major of 
the 114th Hanoverian Infantry. Splendid 
resistance of small garrison against over- 
whelming odds. It will certainly appear in 
the Berlin papers." 

44 Then you think we are saved ? " said the 
old man, with neither emotion nor exultation 
in his voice. 

The Colonel smiled. 

44 Why, Professor," said he, 44 1 have seen 
you more excited on the morning when you 
brought back Lepidus Mercerensis in your 
collecting box." 

Digitized by Google 

44 The fly was safe in my collecting-box 
first," the entomologist answered. 44 1 have 
seen so many strange turns of Fate in my 
long life that I do not grieve nor do I rejoice 
until I know that I have cause. But tell me 
the news." 

44 Well," said the Colonel, lighting his long 
pipe and stretching his gaitered legs in the 
bamboo chair, 44 Til stake my military reputa- 
tion that all is well. They are advancing 
swiftly, the firing has died down to show that 
resistance is at an end, and within an hour 
well see them over the brow. Ainslie is to 
fire his gun three times from the church tower 
as a signal, and then we shall make a little 
sally on our own account." 

44 And you are waiting for this signal ? " 

44 Yes, we are waiting for Ainslie's shots. 
I thought I would spend the time with you, 
for I had something to ask you." 

44 What was it ? " 

44 Well, you remember your talk about 
the other siege — the siege of Sung-tong. It 
interests me very much from a professional 
point of view. Now that the ladies and 
civilians are gone you will have no objection 
to discussing it." 

44 It is not a pleasant subject." 

44 No, I dare say not. Mein Gott ! it was 
indeed a tragedy. But you have seen how I 
have conducted the defence here. Was it 
wise? Was it good? Was it worthy of the 
traditions of the German army ? " 

44 1 think you could have done no more." 

44 Thank you. But this other place, was it 
as ably defended ? To me a comparison of 
this sort is very interesting. Could it have 
been saved ? " 

44 No ; everything possible was done — save 
only one thing." 

44 Ah ! there was one omission. What was 
it ? " 

44 No one — above all, no woman— should 
have been allowed to fall alive into the hands 
of the Chinese." 

The Colonel held out his broad red hand 
and enfolded the long, white, nervous fingers 
of the Professor. 

44 You are right — a thousand times right. 
But do not think that this has escaped my 
thoughts. For myself I would die fighting, 
so would Ralston, so would Ainslie. I have 
talked to them, and it is settled. But the 
others, I have spoken with them, but what 
are you to do? There are the priest, and 
the missionary, and the women." 

44 Would they wish to be taken alive?" 

44 They would not promise to take steps to 
prevent ^ ;; Thej would not lay hands on 





their own lives. Their consciences would 
not permit it Of course* it is all over now, 
and we need not speak of such dreadful 
things. But what would you have done in 
my place ? } 

"Kill them." 
" Mein Gott ! 
" In mercy I 

You would murder them?*' 
would kill them. Man, I 

have been through it. I have seen the death 
of the hot eggs ; I have seen the death of 
the boiling kettle ; I have seen the women— 
my God ! I wonder that I have ever slept 
sound again." His usually impassive face 

was working and quivering with the agony of 
the remembrance- " I was strapped to a 
stake with thorns in my eyelids to keep them 
open, and my grief at their torture was a less 
thing than my self-reproach when I thought 
that I could with one tube of tasteless tablets 
have snatched them at the last instant from 
the hands of their tormentors. Murder ! I 
am ready to stand at the Divine bar and 
answer for a thousand murders such as that ! 
Sin ! Why, it is such an act as might well 
cleanse the stain of real sin from the 
soul But if, knowing what I do, I should 


1 YOU A HE A UtiAVE, -STttONti MAN Wti 

by Google 

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have failed this second time to do it, then 
by Heaven ! there is no hell deep enough or 
hot enough to receive my guilty craven 

The Colonel rose, and again his hand 
clasped that of the Professor 

" You speak sense," said he. " You are 
a brave, strong man who know your own 
mind. Yes, by the Lord ! you would have 
been my great help had things gone the 
other way. I have often thought and won- 
dered in the dark, early hours of the morning, 
but I did not know how to do it. But we 
should have heard Ainslie's shots before now 
I will go and see." 

Again the old scientist sat alone with his 
thoughts. Finally, as neither the guns of the 
relieving force nor yet the signal of their 
approach sounded upon his ears, he rose, and 
was about to go himself upon the ramparts 
to make inquiry when the door flew open, 
and Colonel Dresler staggered into the room. 
His face was of a ghastly yellow-white, and 
his chest heaved like that of a man exhausted 
with running. There was brandy on the 
side-table, and he gulped down a glassful. 
Then he dropped heavily into a chair. 

u Well," said the Professor, coldly, " they 
are not coming? " 

44 No, they cannot come." 

There was silence for a minute or more, 
the two men staring blankly at each other. 

" Do they all know ? " 

44 No one knows but me." 

44 How did you learn ? " 

44 1 was at the wall near the postern gate — 
the little wooden gate that opens on the rose 
garden. I saw something crawling among 
the bushes. There was a knocking at the 
door. I opened it. It was a Christian 
Tartar, badly cut 'about with swords He 
had come from the battle. Commodore 
Wyndham, the Englishman, had sent him. 
The relieving force had been checked. They 
had shot away most of their ammunition. 
They had entrenched themselves and sent 
back to the ships for more. Three days 
must pass before they could come. That 
was all. Mein Gott ! it was enough." 

The Professor bent his shaggy grey 

44 Where is the man ? " he asked. 

44 He is dead. He died of loss of blood. 
His body lies at the postern gate." 

* 4 And no one saw him ? " 

44 Not to speak to." 

44 Oh ! they did see him, then ? " 

44 Ainslie must have seen him from the 
church tower. He must know that I have 

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had tidings. He will want to know what 
they are. If I tell him they must all know." 

u How long can we hold out ? " 

44 An hour or two at the most." 

14 Is that absolutely certain ? " 

44 1 pledge my credit as a soldier upon it." 

44 Then we must fall?" 

44 Yes, we must fall." 

"There is no hope for us?" 

44 None." 

The door flew open and young Ainslie 
rushed in. Behind him crowded Ralston, 
Patterson, and a crowd of white men and of 
native Christians. 

44 You've had news, Colonel ? " 

Professor Mercer pushed to the front. 

44 Colonel Dresler has just been telling me. 
It is all right. They have halted, but will be 
here in the early morning. There is no longer 
any danger." 

A cheer broke from the group in the door- 
way. Everyone was laughing and shaking 

44 But suppose they rush us before to- 
morrow morning ? " cried Ralston, in a 
petulant voice. " What infernal fools these 
fellows are not to push on ! Lazy devils, 
they should be court- martialled, every man 
of them." 

44 It's all safe," said Ainslie. " These fellows 
have had a bad knock. We can see their* 
wounded being carried by the hundred over 
the hill. They must have lost heavily. They 
won't attack before morning." 

44 No, no," said the Colonel ; " it is certain 
that they won't attack before morning. None 
the less, get back to your posts. We must 
give no point away." He left the room with 
the rest, but as he did so he looked back, and 
his eyes for an instant met those of the old 
Professor. " I leave it in your hands," was 
the message which he flashed. A stern set 
smile was his answer. 

The afternoon wore away without the 
Boxers making their last attack. To Colonel 
Dresler it was clear that the unwonted still- 
ness meant only that they were reassembling 
their forces from their fight with the relief 
column, and were gathering themselves for 
the inevitable and final rush. To all the 
others it appeared that the siege was indeed 
over, and that the assailants had been 
crippled by the losses which they had already 
sustained. It was a joyous and noisy party, 
therefore, which met at the supper-table, 
when the three bottles of Lachryma Christi 
were uncorked and the famous pot of caviare 
was finally opened. It was a large jar, and, 
Original from 


2 4 8 


though each had a tablespoonful of the 
delicacy, it was by no means exhausted. 
Ralston, who was an epicure, had a double 
allowance. He pecked away at it like a 
hungry bird. Ainslie, too, had a second 
helping. The Professor took a large spoonful 
himself, and Colonel Dresler, watching him 
narrowly, did the same. The ladies ate 
freely, save only pretty Miss Patterson, who 
disliked the salty, pungent taste. In spite of 
the hospitable entreaties of the Professor, 
her portion lay hardly touched at the side of 
her plate. 

" You don't like my little delicacy. It is 
a disappointment to me when I had kept it 
for your pleasure," said the old man. " I 
beg that you will eat the caviare." 

" I have never tasted it before. No doubt 
I should like it in time." 

" Well, you must make a beginning. Why 
not start to educate your taste now? Do, 
please ! " 

Pretty Jessie Patterson's bright face shone 
with her sunny, boyish smile. 

"Why, how earnest you are! " she laughed. 
" I had no idea you were so polite, Professor 
Mercer. Even if I do not eat it I am just as 

" You are foolish not to eat it," said the 
Professor, with such intensity that the smile 
died from her face and her eyes reflected the 
earnestness of his own. " I tell you it is 
foolish not to eat caviare to-night." 

" But why — why ? " she asked. 

" Because you have it on your plate. 
Because it is sinful to waste it." 

"There! there !" said stout Mrs. Patter* 
son, leaning across. " Don't trouble her any 
more. I can see that she does not like it. 
But it shall not be wasted." She passed the 
blade of her knife under it and scraped it 
from Jessie's plate on to her own. " Now it 
won't be wasted. Your mind will be at ease, 

But it did not seem at ease. On the con- 
trary, his face was agitated like that of a man 
who encounters an unexpected and formid- 
able obstacle. He was lost in thought. 

The conversation buzzed cheerily. Every- 
one was full of his future plans. 

" No, no, there is no holiday for me," 
said Father Pierre. " We priests don't get 
holidays. Now that the mission and school 
are formed 1 am to leave it to Father Amiel, 
and to push westwards to found another." 

" You are leaving ? " said Mr. Patterson. 
" You don't mean that you are going away 
from Ichau ? " 

Father Pierre shook his venerable head in 


waggish reproof. " You must not look so 
pleased, Mr. Patterson." 

" Well, well, our views are very different," 
said the Presbyterian, " but there is no 
personal feeling towards you, Father Pierre. 
At the same time, how any reasonable 
educated man at this time of the world's 
history can teach these poor benighted 
heathen that " 

A general buzz of remonstrance silenced 
the theology. 

" What will you do yourself, Mr. Patter- 
son?" asked someone. 

" Well, I'll take three months in Edinburgh 
to attend the annual meeting. You'll be 
glad to do some shopping in Princes Street, 
I'm thinking, Mary. And you, Jessie, you'll 
see some folk your own age. Then we can 
come back in the fall, when your nerves have 
had a rest." 

" Indeed, we shall all need it," said Miss 
Sinclair, the mission nurse. "You know, 
this long strain takes me in the strangest way. 
At the present moment I can hear such a 
buzzing in my ears." 

" Well, that's funny, for it's just the same 
with me," cried Ainslie. "An absurd up- 
and-down buzzing, as if a drunken bluebottle 
were trying experiments on his register. As 
you say, it must be due to nervous strain. 
For my part I am going back to Peking, and 
I hope I may get some promotion over this 
affair. I can get good polo there, and that's 
as fine a change of thought as I know. How 
about you, Ralston ? " 

" Oh, I don't know. I've hardly had time 
to think. I want to have a real good sunny, 
bright holiday and forget it all. It was funny 
to see all the letters in my room It looked 
so black on Wednesday night that I had 
settled up my affairs and written to all my 
friends. I don't quite know how they were 
to be delivered, but I trusted to luck. I 
think I will keep those papers as a souvenir. 
They will always remind me of how close a 
shave we have had." 

" Yes, I would keep them," said Dresler. 

His voice was so deep and solemn that 
every eye was turned upon him 

" What is it, Colonel ? You seem in the 
blues to - night." It was Ainslie who 

" No, no ; lam very contented " 

" Well, so you should be when you see 
success in sight. I am sure we are all 
indebted to you for your science and skill. 
I don't think we could have held the place 
without you. Ladies and gentlemen, I ask 
you to drink the health of Colonel Dresler, 





of the Imperial German army. Er soil 
leben — hoch ! " 

They all stood up and raised their glasses 
to the soldier, with smiles and bows. 

His pale face flushed with professional pride, 

"I have always kept my books with me. 

I have forgotten nothing," said he, " I do 

not think that more could be done. If 

things had gone wrong with us and the place 

had fallen you would, I am sure, have freed 
me from any blame or responsibility," He 
looked wistfully round him. 

" Trn voicing the sentiments of this com- 
pany, Colonel Dreslur," said the Scotch 

minister, "when I say but, Lord save us! 

what's amiss with Mr* Ralston ? n 

He had dropped his face upon his folded 
arms and was placidly sleeping. 




"Don't mind him," said the Professor, 
hurriedly. "We are all in the stage of 
reaction now. I have no doubt that we are 
all liable to collapse. It is only to-night that 
we shall feel what we have gone through." 

'■ I'm sure I can fully sympathize with 
him," said Mrs. Patterson. " I don't know 
when I have been more sleepy. I can hardly 
hold my own head up." She cuddled back 
in her chair and shut her eyes. 

" Well, I've never known Mary do that 
before," cried her husband, laughing heartily. 
" Gone to sleep over her supper ! What ever 
will she think when we tell her of it after- 
wards ? But the air does seem hot and heavy. 
I can certainly excuse anyone who falls asleep 
to-night. I think that I shall turn in early 

Ainslie was in a talkative, excited mood. 
He was on his feet once more with his glass 
in his hand. 

" I think that we ought to have one drink 
all together, and then sing ' Auld Lang Syne,' " 
said he, smiling round at the company. 
" For a week we have all pulled in the same 
boat, and we've got to know each other as 
people never do in the quiet days of peace. 
We've learned to appreciate each other, and 
we've learned to appreciate each other's 
nations. There's the Colonel here stands 
for Germany. And Father Pierre is for 
France. Then there's the Professor for 
America. Ralston and I are Britishers. 
Then there's the ladies, God bless 'em ! 
They have been angels of mercy and com- 
passion all through the siege. I think we 
should drink the health of the ladies. 
Wonderful thing — the quiet courage, the 
patience, the — what shall I say? — the 
fortitude, the— the — by George, look at the 
Colonel ! He's gone to sleep, too — most 
infernal sleepy weather." His glass crashed 
down upon the table, and he sank back, 
mumbling and muttering, into his seat. 
Miss Sinclair, the pale mission nurse, had 
dropped off also. She lay like a broken lily 
across the arm of her chair. Mr. Patterson 
looked round him and sprang to his feet. He 
passed his hand over his flushed forehead. 

"This isn't natural, Jessie," he cried. 
" Why are they all asleep ? There's Father 
Pierre — he's off too. Jessie, Jessie, your 
mother is cold. Is it sleep ? Is it death ? 
Open the windows! Help! help! help!" 
He staggered to his feet and rushed to the 
windows, but midway his head spun round, 
his knees sank under him, and he pitched 
forward upon his face. 

Digitized by Google 

The young girl had also sprung to her feet 
She looked round her with horror-stricken 
eyes at her prostrate father and the silent ring 
of figures. 

"Professor Mercer! What is it? What 
is it ? " she cried. " Oh, my God, they are 
dying ! They are dead ! " 

The old man had raised himself by a 
supreme effort of his will, though the dark- 
ness was already gathering thickly round him. 

" My dear young lady," he said, stuttering 
and stumbling over the words, " we would 
have spared you this. It would have been 
painless to mind and body. It was cyanide. 
I had it in the caviare. But you would not 
have it." 

" Great Heaven ! " She shrank away from 
him with dilated eyes. " Oh, you monster ! 
You monster ! You have poisoned them ! " 

" No, no ! I saved them. You don't 
know the Chinese. They are horrible. In 
another hour we should all have been in 
their hands. Take it now, child." Even 
as he spoke, a burst of firing broke out under 
the very windows of the room. " Hark ! 
There they are ! Quick, dear, quick, you 
may cheat them yet!" But his words fell 
upon deaf ears, for the girl had sunk back 
senseless in her chair. The old man stood 
listening for an instant to the firing outside. 
But what was that ? Merciful Father, what 
was that ? Was he going mad ? Was it the 
effect of the drug ? Surely it was a European 
cheer? Yes, there were sharp orders in 
English. There was the shouting of sailors. 
He could no longer doubt it: By some 
miracle the relief had come after all. He 
threw his long arms upwards in his despair. 
" What have I done ? Oh, good Lord, what 
have I done ? " he cried. 

It was Commodore Wyndham himself who 
was the first, after his desperate and success- 
ful night attack, to burst into that terrible 
supper-room. Round the table sat the white 
and silent company. Only in the young girl 
who moaned p.nd faintly stirred was any sign 
of life to be seen. And yet there was one in 
the circle who had the energy for a last 
supreme duty. The Commodore, standing 
stupefied at the door, saw a grey head slowly 
lifted from the table, and the tall form of 
the Professor staggered for an instant to its 

" Take care of the caviare ! For God's 
sake, don't touch the caviare ! " he croaked. 

Then he sank back once more and the 
circle of death was complete. 

Ml I I '.' I 1 1 



A Symposium of Leading Novelists. 

|T has been said that in 
everybody's life there is the 
material for one good novel 
But how to use the material ? 
That is the practical question 
which must thwart the attempt 

to put the axiom to ihe test, Method in 

the art of fiction is even more important than 

material, and as to method there would seem 

to be room for great divergence of view. 

What is the more usual practice of the most 

successful masters of the art ? How do they 

prepare themselves for the writing of a novel ; 

how make a beginning ; in what way is the 

plot woven together ; 

how do they create 

their characters and 

draw their scenery ? 

With these questions in 

mind we have induced 

a number of our leading 

novelists to reveal some 

of the secrets of their 

literary workshops. 

Various accounts 
have been published 
from time to time of 
Mr. Hall Chunk's 
method of work, but 
they have been mostly 
apocrypha], We are 
able to describe — for 
the first time, we believe 
— fully and authenti- 
cally how his novels are 

Mr, Hall Caine firft 
evolves an idea — a motif 
relating to the life of the 
time. The u Votes for Women " demonstra- 
tions, for instance, as an outburst of the 
woman movement of the twentieth century, 
would present themselves to him, not as of 
very great importance in themselves, but as 
an indication of great forces behind them. 
Having turned over such a theme in his mind, 
he would think out some central chaflicter in 
whose person it could be illustrated. Then 

Mk, HA 
Fr&tn a Photo 

would come the subordinate characters, 
usually two groups — two families— in whose 
lives he would introduce the incidents which 
make up the story. 

The novelist then writes out what he calls 
his first scenario, or synopsis, of the book. 
This is written at great length without the 
slightest regard for literary form, so much so 
that some of the sentences will probably be 
unfinished. It is dictated to a typist in hot 
haste, the novelist working almost con- 
tinuously until he has unburdened himself of 
all that is in his mind regarding the motif, 
the characters, and the incidents/ On one 
occasion Mr. Hall Caine 
thus dictated twenty 
thousand words — and 
this first scenario has 
sometimes extended to 
forty thousand words — 
in the course of two 
days, working right on 
through the night. It 
is like an artist making 
the rapid first sketch of 
a big picture, throwing 
the paint on to the 
canvas in order that he 
may at once put his 
ideas of form and colour 
into a tangible form. 

Then comes the 
making of a second 
scenario — eliminating, 
developing, clar i fy i ng. 
This work Mr* Caine 
does with the pen in his 
hand, A fair copy is 
made on the typewriter, 
a wide margin being 
left on one side of the paper. 

At this point the novelist's hardest work 
begins. He has to gather the material with 
which to ensure the life-like accuracy of his 
characters and scenery. His method of 
doing this is laboriously conscientious* If 
his chief character is a Labour leader, he 
would take steps to become personally 
acquaintcQri^tRaldV^fHI labour leaders ; he 


1,1. CAINE. 
fcy EitwU * Pry, 



would read everything he could lay his hands 
upon respecting them, carefully noting every 
little trick of speech, every peculiarity of 
dress, and so forth. When he was writing 
" The Eternal City," Mr. Caine obtained an 
introduction to the Papal secretary, and 
through him secured permission to spend 
some time in the Pope's private chambers. 
He would note down every detail in a room, 
down to the smallest article of furniture; this 
not because be -expected to use all these 
details, but in order that he might feel, when 
writing, that he knew the Pope's chambers as 
well as he knew his own flat in Whitehall 

In this wav the novelist accumulates an 

enormous pile of material. He goes through 
it with the second scenario by the side of 
him, putting in all the necessary details on 
the margins. 

Then - and not till then — comes the actual 
writing of the novel. Mr. Caine writes it with 
his own hand, bit by bit, from day to day. 
For two or three hours before putting pen to 
paper he thinks out every word until he has 
the whole passage engraved, so to speak, on 
his mind. He writes rapidly for twenty or 
thirty minutes and his day's work is done. 

When the manuscript is complete a type- 
written copy is made, and on this copy Mr. 
Caine makes a final revision — striking out a 
word here, changing one there — before it 

is sent to the 
printers. From 
first to last the 
making of the 
novel has occu- 
pied from two to 
three years. 


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Mr. and Mrs. 
C. N. William- 
son have made 
their names in 
and they make a 
joint statement 
with reference to 
their methods of 

" Our motor- 
ing books we 
wrote from 
enormous quanti- 
ties of notes, 
which we make 
even whilst 
travelling in the 
car — jotting 
down impres- 
sions before they 
have time to fade. 
Then, when we 
finish a tour, we 
sort out all our 
notes, and, in a 
way, classify 
them. The plot 
of the story we 
always decide on 
before beginning 
the tour into the 
account of which 

it is to be woven, 

A PAGE OP THB MS. OF , *THK CHRISTIAN," BY MR. HAI.L CAINE. £ + j -!_• |_ _|1 

Reproduced by courtesy of Mr. William Heineman^ the publisher of Mr. HaU Caine i lk*U. AUG 1 inmK aij 




REEF ■ * 

5 53 

<^1-" ^t C L * M>^1 


from I FApfo, 6 tf £Nw« <tf fVy 

our ideas for the stories have been thrashed 
out while taking long, lonely, country walks* 
One of us has always sketched a plan 
while lying awake at night, and jiuring the 
long walk tells it to the other. ■ Then the 
other adds something to it, and after an 
afternoon or two among the heather in 
Surrey, or by the sea, or on the mountains 
near Cap Martin, the plot gets itself ready to 
be put down on paper in condensed form, 
Mest we forget/ 

" After that, though, the book has still to 
be written, and we like best to write out of 
doors. There is a summer-house where we 
love to write at our little Surrey place, 
There is a lovely view which we fancy gives 
us inspiration. And at the Chalet des Pins, 
a tiny villa we have between Cap Martin and 
Men ton, there's a mueh queerer summer- 
house built up in a big pine tit c, where we 
are very fond of working, Neither of us can 
bear to write if we think there is any chance 

From a Phifto. % Elliott tti Fry. 

of being disturbed, so no one is allowed to 
come near us. If we are very keen on our 
work we go on with it hour after hour and 
hate to stop. We don't tie ourselves down 
to regular hours for writing, but seldom a day 
passes without our doing thfee or four 
hours' work at least I can't write if I 
have ugly surroundings. It upsets me com- 
pletely and spoils my thoughts to be in an 
Ugly room. Where I can write best I write 
fastest, but my husband finds it rather the 
other way. He has no superstitions ; but I 
would not write unless I had on a quaint 
thumb-ring I bargained for of a Bedouin 
gipsy at Bethlehem, when I was in the Holy 
Land. It was his i Lucky Ring/ and it is 
mine. I feel quite lost without it." 

Mr. \\\ B. Maxwell is popularly supposed 
to have been "coached" in the novelist's 
art by his mother, the venerable M Miss 
Braddon/^OirwAiBeiTJe lives at Richmond- 



1ft. *f~ , -+ — ~ - * / 

*f> 4^U <^ fff*u jv* a, aw/A. <&**fA 4i A**4i 

sio S*i*vt Cjhy ' at 





From a Photo, by RuHs*H *£ Sotttt. 

And this fact — 
if fact it be — 
gives an added 
interest to his 

"I begin 
always with the 
characters, en- 
deavouring, in 
notes j to build 
them upas sub- 
stantially as 
possible before 
trying to con- 
struct the book. 
My characters 
are altogether 
imaginary. Of 
course, all 
writers, consciously or unconsciously, must 
use such materials as their own observation 
of life has provided, lint I have always 
avoided any attempts to make a word-portrait 
of a real personage. 

"I have always taken trouble about 
what is termed l detail/ collecting on 
each subject dealt with as much informa- 
tion as I could obtain— much more than 
one could safely let loose on the long- 
suffering reader. 
Having been for a 
considerable time 
interested in the 
prevailing condi- 
tions — good and 
bad — of English 
shop - life, employ- 
ment of girls in 
towns, and kindred 
matters, I found the 
collection of study 
of London shops 
for * Vivien ' an easy 
and congenial task/' 

Mr. Horace Annesley Vachell tells 

us : — 

U I always work in the morning, generally 
from nine to ten. After tea I may put in 
another hour I don't trust to the inspira- 
tion of the pen, although I clutch at it if it 
comes from that source or any other. 

" As a general rule, I work out my stories 
very carefully, long before I put them on 
paper, One gets an idea, a possible theme 
for a novel, and 
then one, so to 
speak, pigeon- 
holes it. After 
that, for a year 
or two, one 
collects, con 
scionsly or sub- 
consciously, the 
material best 
likely to nourish 
that theme. I 
suppose a 
number of men 
work in this 
way. When the 
period of incu- 
bation ends I 
go seriously to 

From a rhvtu. by EUi*M <tf Fry. 


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work and work 
hard, I write 
and rewrite 
until the book 
is finished in 
the rough; 
then I revise 
with great care f 
adding and 

11 1 do my 

work, "explains 
Mr. Max 1'im 
bertoist, " be- 
tween eleven 
and one 
o'clock in the 
morning and five and 
ing. The two hours 


From a Photo. *v K itttik & Abbot 


seven in the even- 
before dinner are 
the best in the day, hut I generally get my 
ideas when 1 first awake in the morning. 
This is all very commonplace, but it is true. 
My experience tells me that you can do, in 
the country, S , * . 

a good day's fv-^ LVxsHu* 

work in three 
hours, whilst 
in London 
you do a bad 
day's work in 
seven. That 
is why I have 
cut myself 
free from tele- 
phones and 
gone where 
the taxes are 
at rest" 

As to the 
of a novel, p , 
he adds :— A*^ 


"I begin a novel with the plot in most 
cases. The central character occasionally 
supplies the plot ; but in the case of a w T riter 
of adventure stories not always. 

" My characters are taken both from life 
and imagination* 

11 My history is worked up by reading the 

best books on 
the subject — 
and the rarest 
books I can find* 
"All the 
places used to 
any extent in 
my novels are 
those I have 
personally visi- 
ted, except in 
the case of the 
purest and obvi- 
ously imagina- 
tive romances," 

MR, W + W + JACQb.S* 

From a Photo, by Fraud*. 


11 A character 
in a play I saw 



/ ft 











-Jo*- *c^ 


by Google 

M I ■. W. 



IN T"F KAMtl.V." 



some years ago," said Mr. W. W. Jacobs, in a 
laconic reply to our query, "in answer to 
a question whether he always twiddled his 
thumbs that way, replied, * No; I sometimes 
twiddle em this way and sometimes I twiddle 
T em thai way. 1 This, I suppose, is my method 
for writing stories, I suppose that I generally 



many facts which came under my notice, the 
plot of ' Ezra ' gradually formed in" my 
mind- The book was begun in the open 
air last February, among orange groves, 
roses, and carnations. Its progress at first 
was slow, for the subject was vast, and 
at every turn difficulties hindered my 

4*^U^J^*tzzr. ^^ &? 


start with an idea of some 
sort, and then write it out 
with the assistance of the 
characters as I go along. 
Some of the characters 
are partly taken from 
life, and the scenes are 
generally founded, more 
or less, on the places I 
have visited. Generally 
speaking, I put my pen 
to paper at the last pos- 
sible moment and re- 
move it at the earliest — 
although I need not tell 
you this." 

" In commencing a 
novel," slates Miss Wini- 
fred Graham, whose 
name will be familiar to 
readers of The Strand 
Magazine, " I only want 
to have the chief idea in 
my mind, the main pivot 
around which the whole matter revolves. As 
in each novel methods are bound to differ, I 
will take as the most important my latest, 
1 Ezra, the Mormon/ I met a world-famed 
traveller at Cimiez early last spring. He had 
been staying with the Mormons at Salt Lake 
City, and excited my curiosity by describing 
them as * the wickedest people on earth/ 
though inwardly the most religious. From 

Diojlized by v_j 

efforts towards Mormon 
research. By one mail 
fourteen secret books 
from Utah reached me, 
and so much secrecy 
was connected with their 
coming and the manner 
in which Ihey were 
obtained that even now 
I half fear to speak of 
them in print. These 
books gave into my hand 
the initiation rites and 
polygamous marriage 
ceremony of the Mor- 
mons, who still defy the 
Government and carry 
on strange customs 
which may only be prac- 
tised under the rose. 
The novel occupied me 
till late autumn. It was 
continued in London 
during the season, on the 
Thames at Hampton, 
in Bath, South Wales, and Scotland. Even 
when completed, an after - thought caused 
a whole fresh chapter to bt; wilt ten in, 
which delayed publication till November, 
In all my books the characters work out 
their own destiny, and the plot grows with 
them, created from an original skeleton. 
I always write quickly, but correct and alter 
slowly, treating my manuscript with all the 




harshness I can muster* I prefer to describe 

scenery from personal knowledge, but I have, 

when this has been impossible, managed to 

become intimate with a locality through 

studying photographs, and colouring them 

with imagination by talking to people who 

know the very spots I would describe, and 

pestering them with so many questions that 

for the time they wish their 

eyes had never beheld 

those coveted scenes. It 

may be remembered that 

in * World Without End' 

I described each room and 

all that takes place in the 

great Mahommedan shrine 

at Mashad, in Persia, the 

sacred precincts of which 

are supposed never to have 

been visited by European 

eyes. It has puzzled many 

Persian travellers, who have 

tried to draw from me the 

source of my knowledge, 

while a learned sheikh 

wrote from the East a 

solemn condemnation and 

religious denunciation of 

this novel, in his most 


Ffomu Photo- by Waffle. A"« Bond Str&l, W, 

Mighty " came to be written, An historian 
of Quebec, Mr. James Lemoine, excited his 
interest in a certain Captain Robert Stobo, 
who was an intimate personal friend of 
George Washington, a Glasgow man by birth, 
and a descendant of the great Montrose. 
" I hunted up some old records," Sir Gilbert 
says, "and found that not only was his life 
singularly fascinating in 
the matter of adventure, 
but that he played an im- 
portant part in the history 
of the Empire. 

M In my story I show 
the real reasons why this 
man was obliged to endure 
sufferings for his country 
which his country did not 
attempt to relieve. In 
fiction one would naturally 
attribute some of his dis- 
asters to a woman, and, in 
truth, I discovered, 
through some old letters 
in the jjossession of a 
certain family in Quebec:, 
that his troubles were in 
tensified in consequence of 
his love for a French lady. 

4-u^/^Sr dz~) i f &£ •&, *»*»_ ms+^~ 

SIR GILBEkT PrtWKEfl's AI5*— FIOM " OWCE AT VWM Man's M¥|*," 

flowery Arabic. After hotly speaking of 
my calumnies about the sacred countries 
which are 'far from the eyes of Christian 
dogs/ he assures me I shall bring upon my- 
self the displeasure of Almighty God, and 
He will punish me, I wish I could say how 
my information was obtained, as it would be 
of great interest, but, unfortunately, the 
secret must die with me + " 

By way of explaining the beginnings of a 
novel Sir Gilbert Parker recalled the cir- 
cumstances under which f'The Seats of the 

Vol, xxxv, -35, 

"After I had thus got the groundwork of 
my story it took me two years to write. 
Usually I write with comparative ease and 
facility, and if a thing does not seize me I drop 
it for a time. Once absorbed in a novel, and 
I can write under almost any circumstances. 
One of the concluding chapters of ' The Trail 
of the Sword ' I wrote in a railway train ■ two 
chapters of * The Translation of a Savage ' I 
wrote between London and New York, Some 
of my short stories have been written among 
crowds of people ; one was written at a rail- 
way static^PAJifraflfiraisnwaidng for a train. 


25 8 


** But I have first to call up all my will 
to force myself, as it were, into a separate 
atmosphere from my surroundings, and to 
concentrate all my faculties on the pictures 
which I see with my mind's eye ; and when 
once I have my characters clearly before me, 
they hold me in spile of the gossip of the 
passing crowd. Naturally I prefer to work in 
perfect quiet ; yet there are times when abso- 
lute silence is painful to me, and then a hand- 
organ under my window is a positive relief" 

imagination- I may now and then endow 
them with a quality as a mannerism which 
I have seen in real life, but I have never put 
a real person wholesale into any of my books. 
u The whole story is — as I have said 
above — planned in my own mind before I 
put pen to paper ; and I also make a rough 
sketch of the chapters, and what each is to 
contain. But this latter bketch is subject to 
modifications, as one cannot always know 
definitely beforehand exactly what length 


/ nm 







From a Photo, by] 


Miss Ellen Thgrneycroft Fowler de- 
scribed her method as follows : — 

" I begin a novel by making a sketch of 
the plot, and never alter the main points of 
such afterwards. I never begin to write 
until the plot is absolutely complete in my 
own mind* Then I set about drawing 
characters and filling in details. 

"I draw my characters almost entire 

r entirely from 

any particular 
may be. 

"The time I prefer for 
working is from nine to 
twelve o'clock in the morn- 
ing, I do not mind work- 
ing also from four until six 
in the afternoon, provided 
that the weather is not fit 
for being out of doors; 
but I never let my work 
interfere with going out of 
doors twice a day, weather 
permitting. I do not in 
the least mind where 1 
write, givrn that people 
will not talk to me and 
distract my thoughts. 

44 But the thing that 
utterly paralyzes my pen 
and makes writing impos- 
sible is hurry of any kind. 
If I am pushed for time I cannot write a line. 
I work quickly when there is no need to do 
so, but when there is I cannot work at alh 

*' It takes me about a year to write a book ; 
or, rather, it usually takes from September to 
Easter, as I never do much work in the 
summer. I write quickly when I am in the 
mood, and I do not write at all when I am 
not. When Onqiriupl fnftrowing I consider 


[Alice Hughe* 



fifteen hundred words, or from that to two 
thousand words, a good day's work. 

" I think ray scenery is all described 
beforehand. Though I never take people 
from real life, I always take places. But there 
is no need for me specially to visit a place 
before writing about it t as I never forget what 
I have once seen, but can always call it up 
before my mind's eye whenever I choose. I 
always visualize everything, and I cannot 
write about things or places or people without 
inwardly seeing them. All my thoughts, so 
to speak, are Illustrated," 

Mr, E. F, Benson thus explains his 
methods : — 

"I begin with an idea — the main idea of 
a story. Then I make a rough draft of my 
plot ; but it is only a rough draft, liable to 
much alteration when I get to the actual 
writing. I made a synopsis of the first ten 
chapters of the novel I 
have now in hand, but on 
comparing them with the 
synopsis I find every one 
has worked out quite differ- 
ently. What I thought 
would go into a page has 
taken an entire chapter, 
and, vice . vers a t what I 
thought .would fill a 
chapter has occupied only 
a page. Only two or three 
of the leading characters 
are thought out at the 
outset. The rest develop 
with the story. Sometimes 
a character will take the 
bit between its teeth, so to 
speak, and drag me along 
with it— and that is best of 

Frvm a Photo, by EHivtt *t Fry, 

alL There is a general impression that my 
characters are usually taken from life, Dodo, 
I suppose, being the most notorious example. 
That is quite wrong. 1 have never con- 
sciously drawn any important character from 
life. As regards Dodo, I have got quite 
tired of telling people who talk to me on the 
subject that I had been working at the novel 
quite six months before I met the lady whose 
personality is supposed to have suggested it. 
My subordinate characters are introduced as 
the need for them arises, and sometimes 1 
have taken them from living persons, because 
it saved trouble and ensured realism. 

il My scenery, on the other hand, is almost 
invariably described from actual places with 
which I am familiar. That is to say, I may take 
a house, for instance, from one place and give 
it a garden from another place. In this way, 
whilst having exactly the kind of house and 
garden that 1 want, I can make sure of accu- 
racy. I never take note 
either of scenery or anything 
else for the purpose of my 
books. 1 rely upon memory, 
but if I am in doubt 
about an important point 
respecting any place I 
make a point of revisiting it 
" Having put pen to 
paper the progress of my 
work depends upon cir- 
cumstances. If I am in 
London for a month with 
nothing particular to do, I 
work at a book day by day 
and then put it aside for a 
month, perhaps. I find it 
almost impossible to work 
in the country — I am too 
fond of outdoor pursuits," 

* *JJL 

& i'ASSAGE fWt)M MR. E. F. UENSQNS Hlb'lfiifllAtid iM>(Ds|flriGF PFKJLNCB." 


Tke M&nfc Wfeo Mew c 


both hands on her sister's 

"Peggy," she said, "what 
did the doctor say about 
mother ? " 

Peggy hesitated, and her big, childish eyes 
clouded over. 

"She's in a very low state," she replied. 
"Of course, we knew her heart was weak, 
but this collapse is entirely due to worry 
and insufficient nourishment. He says she 
ought to have wine and be well fed up — and 
oh, Gill ! " she ended, piteously, " you don't 
know how hard it is not to be able to give 
her all the good things she ought to have ! " 

" But I do know ! " the elder girl cried, 
passionately. " I know it every minute of 
the day, and it nearly drives me mad ! " 

Peggy smiled wanly. Life is not easy 
when the family income is only eighty pounds 
a year, especially when doctors become 

Things had gone from bad to worse since 
Mr. Iredell died. One company after another, 
in which his money was invested, had failed, 
and now they were reduced to living on the 
top floor of this tall, dingy house, off the 
Edgware Road. 

With great difficulty Gillian had managed 
to obtain a post as companion-accompanist 
to a lady singer, which brought her in twenty- 
five pounds a year, and every shilling she 
could spare she gave to her mother. 

Gillian had been dismayed, when she 
rushed in on her little surprise visit, to find 
her mother ill in bed and Peggy sitting with- 
out a fire, for her own lot was luxury com- 
pared with this. 

" Look here, dear," she said at last, as she 
drew a shabby purse from her muff. " Take 
this half-crown. I was going to buy some 
lace to furbish up my evening dress for to- 
night, but you need it far more." 

Peggy looked wistfully at her sister. 

" But — your dress, Gill ? " she began. 

"Oh, that can't be helped," Gillian 
answered, lightly. " And, after all, I'm only 
Madame's * hired girl' — no one will notice 
me. But I quite forgot to tell you about to- 
night ; we're going to a swell 'At Home,' and 

gilized by LjOOgle 

Fm to play the accompaniments, so Madame 
said I was to look as smart as I possibly 

" Oh, Gill, dear ! " said Peggy, fingering 
the half-crown dubiously. 

" Don't look so serious, child ! " laughed 
Gillian. " By the way, Peg, I wonder whether 
you'd lend me your real lace berthe to wear?" 

Peggy's face flushed and her eyes filled 
with tears, but she brushed them away. 

" I would gladly— but " 

"What?" cried Gillian, quickly. 

Peggy shook her head. "It has gone! 
I — I sold it — yes," as Gillian gave a little 
scream. " I had to — to pay for the medicine 
and things. Oh, I don't mind much, but 
I'm so sorry about your dress." 

" Peggy, you're a brick ! " said Gill, huskily, 
as she squeezed her sister's hand ; then she 
picked up her muff. " Oh, I'm forgetting all 
about the time, and I've no end of errands to 
do for Madame this morning. Good-bye, 
dear ; I won't disturb mother again." 

" You'll look in whenever you can ? " said 
Peggy, eagerly, as she followed Gillian to the 
door ; " won't you ? " 

" Of course I will," was the prompt reply. 
" And Peggy, dear, you're not to worry. I'm 
going to see what / can do — mother shall 
have the wine and things if I have to beg in 
the streets for them ! " 

Then Gillian ran swiftly down the stairs 
and disappeared. 

Ten minutes' sharp walk brought her into 
the Edgware Road, when she sprang into a 
passing bus and was soon at Oxford Circus. 

" We must get mother well again ! " she 
murmured, desperately, as she turned down 
New Bond Street to execute her last com- 
mission. " I shall have to raise some money 

And then she thought of the lace Peggy 
had sacrificed and her brave pretence of not 

" What could / sell ? " she asked herself 
eagerly; and as she entered Chappell's her 
brain was working rapidly. 

She had only one article of any real value 
left — a small brooch of lapis lazuli, set round 
with rather fine pearls, which had been in 
the Iredells' family for several generations. 




Her heart beat 
fast as she stepped 
out on to the pave- 
ment again. There 
was a jeweller's a 
little lower down 
on the opposite 
side of the street 
— she would try 

The place was 
crowded, and for 
some minutes she 
could not get near 
the counter. One 
fat, wealthy Ameri- 
can, in a magnifi- 
cent fur coat, 
seemed to be com- 
manding a con- 
siderable amount 
of attention. 

" Put that dia- 
mond necklace 
aside for me," Gil- 
lian heard him say; 
"the one at a 
thousand guineas. 
And now let me 
look at some 
pendants and 

Just then some- 
one left the shop 

and Gillian moved nearer, until she stood quite 
close to the portly Crcesus, watching with 
deep interest as he overhauled one tray after 
another of scintillating gems. 

She was just wondering 
it felt like to be as rich 
when suddenly her eye fell 
bright and sparkling close by. 
mond pendant had got accidentally brushed 
aside by the massive fur cuffs of the American* 
and now lay on the edge of the counter, half 
concealed by his elbow. 

Gillian was just about to call attention to 
this, when a movement from the man beside 
her sent the trinket off the counter Instead 
of falling to the ground, however, it caught 
in the shaggy fur of Gillian's Tibet-skin mufl, 
and it took her two or three seconds to dis- 
entangle it. 

li Guess I'll have that diamond and 
emerald brooch," the Yankee was saying. 
" And earrings to match, if you've got 

And then, as Gillian turned to the smiling 



vaguely w T hat 

as this man, 

on something 

A small dia 

jeweller to hand 

back th 



realised that neither he nor his wealthy 
patron had missed it. 

Swiftly her eye travelled along to the two 
assistants. Both were busily engaged with 
other customers — no one had seen ! 

Ah ■ u How oft the sight and means to do 
ill deeds makes ill deeds done ! * 

An overwhelming temptation suddenly 
seized her. She thought of Peggy's wan face 
and her mother lying ill in bed, and the die 
was cist Her hand tightened on the 
pendant and slid down into her muff. The 
whole thing was hut the work of a minute ; but 
Gillian Iredell had taken an irrevocable step. 

Quietly she edged out of her corner, then 
caught her breath in sudden terror ; for, as 
she turned towards the door, she met the 
fixed, accusing gaze of a man who was stand- 
ing just behind her. How long he had been 
there she had no idea ; but that he had seen 
she knew the instant their eyes met. 

What — what was he going to do ? 

There was an awful pause — not more than 
a second, yet in that short space he had seen 
deep do^igitoitfeqpirs soul, 




" Here, Ralph," said a woman's voice close 
by j "we can gtt to the counter at last." 

Then Ralph Lorimer stood aside and 
Gillian Iredell passed out of the shop. 

Her head reeled as she tottered across the 
pavement and climbed into the first passing 
bus. A cold dew gathered on her brow as 
she sank down on the seat. 

Why had he let her escape ? She did not 
know ; but as the bus rattled into Oxford 
Street she knew that she had been saved 
from a great and horrible disgrace. 

By the time she reached Mme. Perino's 
flat she had bitterly regretted her rash act. 
With a heavy heart she hastened upstairs to her 
room and hid the pendant away in her trunk. 

Fortunately she was not allowed much 
leisure to brood over the matter, for her 
afternoons were always fully occupied, and 
to-day there were the songs to practise for 
the evening. It was not Gillian who 
accompanied Mme. Perino in public. A 
long-haired German usually filled that office, 
but, as this was not a professional engage- 
ment, she thought it a good opportunity to 
test Gillian's powers. And Gillian had been 
so delighted at first, and determined to prove 
herself worthy of the task. Now all her 
enthusiasm seemed to have evaporated. The 
evening of Lady Glenhugh's "At Home " had 
arrived, and neither in her work nor her per- 
sonal appearance did she feel the faintest 

" Why do you look so dull to-night ? " 
asked Madame. " Are you not well ? " 

Gillian tried to smile. "Thank you, I am 
all right." 

" And your dress — how plain ! Did I not 
tell you to get some trimming or flowers ?" 

" I could not afford it," answered the girl, 
simply. "My mother is ill, and needs all 
the money I can spare." 

Madame stared at her for a moment in 
surprise. " Well, well, I am sorry to hear it," 
she said at last, for, under her somewhat 
austere manner, she hid a kind « heart. 
" Never mind, child ; get my lace fichu out 
of that drawer. Now," and she draped it 
gracefully round Gillian's shoulders. "Fix 
it so with your brooch, and take this bunch 
of violets— there ! Ah, it makes all the 
difference. See!" And she drew Gillian 
before the mirror. " Really, you look quite 
distinguie, my dear ! " ■ 

During the drive to I^ady Glenhugh's Mme. 
Perino kept up a string of instructions, 
consisting chiefly of " Don'ts," which the girl 
listened to patiently and promised to 

Digitized by LjOOgle 

This was the first function of the kind 
Gillian had ever been to, and the throngs of 
laughing, chattering people quite bewildered 
her when she entered the brightly-lighted 
rooms. She felt strangely out of it all, and 
it was a relief to her when the time came 
for Mme. Perino to sing. 

Many eyes were turned upon the girl as 
she walked across the room to the piano, and 
the general hubbub subsided instantly as the 
opening bars of the song arose. The magic 
powers of Mme. Pernio' s voice were well 

The first verse ended brilliantly and a 
hushed murmur of admiration ran through 
the room. Suddenly Gillian felt an irre- 
sistible desire to look up and see the effect. 
Desire ? Nay, it was a magnetical force con- 
trolled her, for as her glance travelled rapidly 
over the sea of faces one only stood out for 
her in all that crowd. One pair of eyes 
alone compelled her gaze — the eyes of the 
man who knew ! 

. A hand of ice seemed to strike her across 
the brow. Her fingers trembled over the 
keyboard, wavered — and then a horrible 
discord crashed out. 

Mme. Perino looked sharply round, while 
the young man who was turning over the 
music stepped forward in alarm. For a 
moment Gillian swayed on the piano stool, 
and they thought she was going to faint ; but 
with a supreme effort she mastered herself, 
and began the second verse. 

How she got through the rest of the song 
correctly she never knew ; but when it was 
ended she made no attempt to move. She 
just sat there, motionless, looking neither to 
right nor left. 

At the awful moment when she had met 
those eyes, fixed so strangely upon her, she 
had imagined that he had purposely tracked 
her to this house. Now she knew it was 
merely her own wild and guilty conscience 
made her fancy it. His being here was but 
a coincidence — a hideous trick of fate. 

Would he give her away, she wondered — 
would he, now that he could find out her 
name and all about her — would he denounce 
her as a thief, and get her turned away from 
her post and disgraced? 

"What is the matter with you?" said 
Madame's sharp voice at her elbow. " Are 
you ill?" 

Gillian started violently. " Oh, no, no ; 
I am all right. I — I felt a little queer while 
playing. I " 

" Ah, it may be the room is rather warm," 
put in Lady <£Jf«fipgh, who had just then 





approached, and she turned kindly to Gillian. 
" My dear, you don't look well, Let me 
take you into the conservatory ; it is nice and 
cool there." 

" Thank you very much," murmured 
Gillian T gratefully, and she rose and followed 
her hostess across the room. 

A number of people had already found 
their way into this charming retreat, and just 
inside the doorway they came upon a large 
group, standing talking, 

" Ah t Mrs. Brough, this looks like gossip," 
cried Lady Glenhugh, merrily, to a lady who 
appeared to be the centre of the group. 
■* What is it?" 

11 1 was telling them of rather an exciting 
incident that occurred when my brother and 

1 were shopping this morning," answered 
Mrs. Brough. H It was in Verrall's." 

"Yes?" said Lady Glenhugh. "And 
what happened ? n 

"There was a valuable diamond pendant 
stolen. A rich American had been buying 
thousands of pounds' worth of jewellery ; 
then, when they began to put away the 
things he'd burn looking at, they missed this 
pendant. It was soon after Ralph and I 
entered the shop." 

" And did they catch the thief? " put in 
Lady Glenhugh, with interest 

Mrs, Brough shook her head, 

curious. Of course, 
fuss, I believe 

" No ; it was most 


there was_.a sean 
some of them act u 


ly suspected the American 



himself of having palmed it ; but I remem- 
bered there was a girl standing next him in 
the corner when we went in — quite a plainly- 
dressed person — and I drew their attention 
to the fact. One of the assistants said he'd 
noticed a lady standing there for some time, 
but no one had served her, as they were all 
busy. Then she disappeared suddenly." 

"And can no one identify her?" asked 
one of the guests. 

" No ; that's the difficulty — but I'm certain 
it must have been that girl. Don't you 
remember, Ralph, someone pushing past us, 
out of the shop, just before we got to the 
counter ? " 

Ralph Lorimer looked up quickly on being 
addressed, but his glance fell, not on his 
sister, but on the pale, tragic face of the girl 
who stood behind her. 

He shrugged his shoulders. " I'm afraid 
that's not much help to them, anyway," he 
replied ; "someone is so very vague." 

Mrs. Brough looked rather annoyed at her 
brother's lack of interest in the subject. 

" At any rate," she said, turning to her 
hostess again, " unless the thief disposed of 
it at once, shell find a difficulty in selling it 
now, because they've got a description of it 
in all the evening papers, and every pawn- 
broker will be on the look-out." 

Lady Glenhugh nodded. " Oh, yes, she'll 
be caught, I expect. The police are so 
clever ! " Then she suddenly caught sight 
of Gillian. " Oh, you poor child ! I brought 
you in here to have a quiet rest and have left 
you standing all this time ! Come along." 

And no one but Ralph Lorimer noticed the 
dumb agony in those sweet lavender eyes. . 

" Ah, there is a nice cosy corner ! " ex- 
claimed Lady Glenhugh, as she pointed to 
a comfortable lounge overshadowed by palms. 

Gladly the unhappy girl sank into the seat, 
deaf to the noises around her — oblivious to 
everything except one pair of deep, dark, 
compassionate eyes. One fact alone filled 
her brain now — he had spared her ! He 
knew, and yet he refused to do his duty. 
Why?— why? 

Meanwhile Ralph Lorimer had followed 
Lady Glenhugh back to the drawing-room. 

" Do you mind telling me who the girl is 
who accompanied Mme. Perino?" he asked 

Lady Glenhugh looked at him quizzically. 

"You're not the first who has asked me 
that question to-night, Captain Lorimer," she 
said. " Really, Mme. Perino must look after 
her companion, for she's certainly a charming- 
looking girl." 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" And her name ? " 

"Let me see — I ought to know — some- 
thing beginning with I — Iredell^ that's it, of 

"I wonder whether you would introduce 

Lady Glenhugh cast a searching glance at 
him. It was so unlike this quiet, grave man 
to contract a sudden fancy for a chance pretty 
face. However, she answered readily : — 

" Certainly I will. Come with me. I left 
her in the conservatory." 

They found Gillian still sitting like one in 
a dream. She had not heard the approach- 
ing footsteps, and when Lady Glenhugh 
suddenly addressed her she looked up like 
some startled animal. 

" My dear, I have brought Captain Lorimer 
to introduce to you." 

But almost before the words were spoken 
Gillian's eyes had turned instinctively to the 
tall figure standing in the background, and 
her face went a shade paler. 

For a moment there was a singing in her 
ears, and Lady Glenhugh's voice sounded a 
long way off. It was not until Captain 
Lorimer had quickly seated himself beside 
her and addressed her by name that her 
swimming brain returned to working order. 
She realized then that she sat alone with 
the man who knew. 

"I'm afraid you're rather tired," he was 
saying, gently. " A glass of champagne would 
do you good." 

Then she raised her eyes and the crimson 
colour flooded back into her face as she met 
his kind, intent gaze. ! 

"Thank you," she answered, simply; " I — 
I think I should be glad of it" 

And the next minute he had her hand 
within his arm and was leading her off to the 

" We're rather early for supper," he re- 
marked, cheerfully. "But that's all the 
better ; it's less crowded," ' 

And almost before Gillian knew it she was 
sitting opposite him at a small table in a 
quiet corner of the room. 

" I'm going to order for us both, Miss 
Iredell," said Lorimer, with his rare smile. 

Gillian looked back gratefully at him, 
with a wonderful feeling of gladness and con- 
tentment growing in her heart. 

" Your services will be required again soon 
at the piano, I suppose ? " he said, presently. 

She nodded, and he went on chatting 
pleasantly, till Gillian almost forgot the night- 
mare that had oppressed her. The wine had 
brought back the sparkle to her eye and the 




colour to her cheeks, and before they rose 
from the table she felt as if she had known 
Ralph Lorimer all her life. 

Not until she was returning to the drawing- 
room did the strangeness of it all strike her 
— that this charming, courteous man, now 
smiling down at her, had actually seen her 
steal from a shop ! He could not have seen, 
she told herself at length— it was only her 
guilty conscience that made her think so. 
Would he have treated her as he had done 
if he had known ? 

" Ah, there you are ! " exclaimed Mme. 
Perino's voice, close beside her. "I had 
just sent someone to look for you." 

This time there was no hitch in Madame's 
song, and, although the accompaniment was 
a particularly difficult one, Gillian had never 
before played with such sympathetic grace 
and skill. The result of this was that, before 
they left Lady Glenhugh's that night, Mme. 
Perino had determined to dispense with 
the services of the long-haired German 

As they drove homewards Gillian was 
a prey to the strangest mixture of feelings. 
That mysterious glow, which she had first felt 
warm through her veins in the supper-room, 
was still uppermost ; yet behind it lurked 
the dreadful skeleton of the morning. Truly, 
tragedy and romance had entered this girl's 
life hand in hand. 

All through the following day she was 
haunted by Ralph Lorimer's face — by the 
look in his eyes when he bade her good 
night. Then, with a rush of remorse, her 
thoughts would fly back to Peggy and her 
mother and the miserable trinket that lay 
hidden in her trunk. 

If only she could return the thing, at least 
her fault would be half expiated. 

" I will — I will ! " she said to herself, when 
on the third morning she rose from her sleep- 
less bed. " Til send it back this very day ! " 

Before going down to breakfast she packed 
the fatal jewel in a small box with the follow- 
ing note, written in a disguised hand : — 

"Sir, — I return the pendant which, in a 
moment of temptation and madness, I took 
from your shop on Tuesday morning. " 

That afternoon she dropped the parcel 
safely into a letter-box in Regent Street, and 
went home with a lighter heart. 

" I shall be out all day on Sunday," 
Madame informed her that evening. u So 
you can go home and see your mother if 
you wish." 

Gillian thanked her, but her spirits sank. 
How could she face little Peggy empty- 

Voi. xxxv. -^a 

Digitized by LiOOglC 

handed after her promise about the wine? 
The money she had hoped to have for her 
had never been realized. After all, there 
was still the brooch — of course there was ! 

So on Saturday morning, after she had 
done her usual commissions for Mme. 
Perino, Gillian walked quickly down Oxford 
Street in search of a likely shop. She dared 
not venture into Bond Street again — it had 
proved too horribly unlucky. 

At length she came to an antique jeweller's, 
and, after some little hesitation, went in. 

Now it happened that Captain Lorimer 
chanced to be walking on the other side of 
the street, and had caught sight of Gillian 
when she first stopped before the shop. 

His keen eye noticed at once the girls 
nervous manner, and a sudden fear shot 
through his breast. 

He felt he could not leave the spot, and 
lingered about until he saw the tall, slim 
figure reappear. 

With heightened colour she stepped 
quickly out on to the pavement, and 
hastened off in the direction she had come. 

For some minutes Ralph Lorimer stood 
looking after her retreating form, his hand- 
some face strained and anxious. 

"Is it possible?" he murmured. "No, 
no — I will not believe it ! " Then, with firm 
tread, he crossed the road and walked 
straight into the jeweller's shop. 

It was empty, save for the owner, who was 
standing behind the counter, with a glass in 
his eye, examining something in his hand. 

But for the moment Ralph remained 
dumb, staring with fixed and eager gaze at a 
small brooch of lapis lazuli and pearls lying 
on the counter. He had recognised it 
instantly as the one ornament Gillian had 
worn at Lady Glenhugh's., 

" Is that brooch for sale ? " he asked, 

The jeweller stared. "Well, sir, as a 
matter of fact, I've only just purchased it. 
Still, I could name you a price." 

"How much?" 

The man looked search ingly at him. 

" It belonged to a friend of mine," said 
Lorimer, stolidly. "I particularly wish to 
get it back." 

" You shall have it for three pounds ten, 

Without a word Lorimer produced the 
money, picked up the brooch, and marched 
out of the shop. 

" Poor girl ! " he murmured, and his eyes 
were soft and humid. " Poor girl ! How 
glad I am that I happened to see her ! " 

Original from 




And, with a deep feeling of thankfulness in 
his heart, he went on his way towards his 
sister's house. 

Three weeks passed — weeks of mingled 
joy and agony to Gillian. The two pounds 
she had got for her brooch made Peggy 
almost weep with delight, and proved exceed- 
ingly helpful. But Mrs. Iredell was still 
very ailing, and the doctor's opinion was that 
a thorough change of air was the only thing 
to benefit her, and recommended a sea 
voyage. Naturally, the two girls were full 
of despair, for nothing seemed more im- 

But despite all her troubles these days 
were strangely sweet to Gillian. She hardly 
dared acknowledge, even to herself, that 
Ralph Lorimer was the cause of this, yet in 
her innermost heart she knew it. 

Since that eventful night she had met him 
on several occasions, for Madame, true to her 
resolution, had more than once required 
Gillian's services at concerts and " At Homes,'* 
and, curiously enough, Captain Lorimer was 
always there. 

One day Mrs. Brough, who had taken a 
great fancy to Gillian, persuaded Madame to 
bring the girl to her next " Afternoon." Of 
course, Lorimer was there, and Gillian, in 
consequence, inordinately happy. But she 
was not destined to remain so long, for 
during tea Mrs. Brough turned suddenly to 
Lady Glenhugh, who was present. 

" You remember that diamond robbery at 
Verrall's I told you about the other evening?" 

I^ady Glenhugh nodded. 

" Well, it has turned out most curiously. I 
was in there again this morning, and asked 
Mr. Verrall if he had ever got to the bottom 
of the affair, and " 

" Yes ? " put in several voices, with interest. 
"And had he?" 

" The thief returned the pendant atwny- 
mously ! " was Mrs. Brough's astounding 
announcement. She paused to see the effect 
of her words, then added : " It was without 
doubt that girl, as I said from the first ! " 

" How very odd ! " exclaimed Mme. 
Perino. " One doesn't often meet with such 
honest thieves." 

At this there was a general laugh, and no 
one .noticed the strained look on Gillian's 
face, or the eager light which had leapt 
into Captain Lorimer's eyes. 

"Sudden temptation, you know," said Mrs. 
Brough, " followed by swift repentance. One 
can forgive that." 

And then they fell to discussing various 

by Google 

cases of robberies they had known, and 
Gillian sat in a rigid silence, until Ralph 
Lorimer quietly seated himself beside her 
and drew her into conversation. 

One wet, miserable evening, a week later, 
Gillian was standing at the corner of Brompton 
Road, waiting for an omnibus. Her pretty 
face looked tired and anxious, as one after 
another went by, full up. 

" Oh, dear ! " she murmured ; " ten minutes 
wasted already, and I'm getting soaked ! " 

She was just moving back to shelter in a 
shop doorway, when she collided with a tall 
man who was hurrying by. 

" I beg your pardon ! " he exclaimed 
politely, then stopped short. "Gillian! — 
Miss Iredell ! " 

The girl started in surprise, then all the 
colour rushed to her face as she recognised 
Ralph Lorimer. 

For some moments they remained dumbly 
staring at one another ; then, " What terrible 
weather for you to be out in ! " he exclaimed, 
in deep concern. 

11 1 am waiting for a bus, but they are all 
full," she answered, simply. 

" You want to get back to Mme. 
Perino's ? " 

She shook her head. " I am going to see 
my mother." 

" Well, anyway, I can't allow you to stand 
here and get wet through — I'm going to call 
a cab," he said, in a quiet, masterful manner 
which admitted of no argument, and he 
walked to the edge of the pavement and 
gave a sharp whistle. 

A four-wheeler responded to the summons, 
and Gillian, seeing that any protest would be 
useless, entered. Then, to her surprise, 
Lorimer stepped in and seated himself 
beside her. 

" I'm coming with you," he said, gently 
laying his hand upon her arm. "Where 
shall I tell the man to drive to ? " 

For a second Gillian hesitated, striving to 
hide the gladness that filled her ; then, in a 
voice that trembled a little, she gave him her 
mother's address. 

The cab started off, and for some tiifle 
there was absolute silence between them. 
Suddenly Lorimer leant forward and took 
both her hands in his own. 

" Gillian," he said, " look at me ! " 

And obediently she raised her eyes to his. 

" Do you know why I am with you ? " 

She shook her head. 

" Do you not know that I love you, dear 
— that I have always loved you ? " 

Original from 



She would not speak, but her face shone 
with a great joy. 

" You love me, darling ? Yes, I know it," 
as he smiled into her eyes, " But I want 
you to teli me so/ 1 

Then the colour faded from her cheeks ; 
her hands dropped limply away from him, 

M No, no, ? * she answered, with a strangled 
sob, " It is impossible ; you do not 
know " 

"I know that you are the only girl I 
have ever loved ! " he said, passionately* 
" I will marry no one but you ! Listen, dear," 
and he again got possession of her hands, 
,( There must be no more of this drudgery. 
You belong to me now, and I'm going to 
look after you and your mother and sister as 
well We can be married at once, and n 

"Don% don't!" cried Gillian, pitcously, 
turning aside that he might not witness the 
terrible struggle that was going on within 
her. Oh, how she 
longed to accept 
the happiness he 
held out to her! But 
he did not know — 
and if he did, his 
love would pro- 
bably turn to scorn. 
Need she tell? Oh, 
surely, for the sake 
of her mother and 
Peggy, she might 
keep silence and 
retain his love ? 

^Gillian!" he 
said, hoarsely, 
'* why do you turn 
away from me? 
Can it be that you 
do not love me ? " 

Then she raised 
her tragic eyes to 
his, dim with the 
agony of a great 
self- sacrifice. u I 
love you so much," 
she said, "that I 
cannot — I — I — 
there is something 
1 must tell you, 
Ralph — something 
that, when you 
know, will alter 
everything ! Oh, it 
kills me to give 
you up, but — but 
I cannot deceive 
you! Ralph, I " 

But the words she would have spoken were 
arrested on her lips. " You need not tell me, 
dear/' he said, very gently. lt I know." 

Tor a moment she stared at him speech- 
less, the hot blood tingling in her cheeks. 

"Ah !" she said. " I thought so once— I 
thought so at first, but afterwards it seemed 
impossible ! 71 

" Dear," he said, in the tenderest voice in 
the world, ll do you think I would judge a 
life by one moment's rash act ? Do you 
think I did not read the truth the instant 1 
looked into those sweet, tell-tale eyes? Ah, 
you poor child, how you have suffered! It 
has made my heart ache to see you. But 
that is over, thank God, and we will never 
speak of it again." 

Just then the cab pulled up. 

"Come, darling," he said, "let us go up 
and see your mother and Peggy," 

And together they went up, 


by Google 

Original from 

Y friend, .Mr. Cherwell, who 
now comes seldom to town, 
finding an ever-increasing em- 
ployment for his interests and 
affections in a Hampshire 
garden, tells me that he is 
more and more struck on every occasion of 
these decreasing visits to the Metropolis by 
the multitude of shabby people he encounters 
in the streets. 

"You can have no idea," he said to me the 
other night, shifting the candles to obtain a 
better view of the effect produced upon my 
countenance by his words, " how marvellously 
shabby the Londoners appear in the eyes of 
a confirmed countryman. As they pass me 
by in the street I can almost persuade myself 
that I am witnessing a procession of hungry 
tramps from one workhouse to another. 
Their clothes are dirty, their linen is grimy, 
their boots are without a shine, and the brims 
of their hats are thick with London dust. 
There is a strange greyness, too, even in their 
faces, as though the reeky atmosphere had 
permanently soiled the vesture of mortality. 
The old cheerfulness is gone ; gone, too, are 
the briskness and alacrity of the moving 
drama. If I see a well-dressed person I find 
myself turning round to look at him ; if I 
meet a smiling, good-humoured man I am 
tempted to think he has issued from a 

I learned from my friend that he attributes 
this squalid, dusty, unbrushed, and grimy 
appearance of the London streets to the 
prevalence of cheap clothes. He complains 
that men who a generation ago would have 
worn with a notable air one good suit of 
honest woollen till it dropped honourably 

by Google 

from their backs, must now have three 01 
four suits of pretentious shoddy which go to 
shabby ruin in the London atmosphere 
almost as soon as they are put on. Instead 
of a few very finely-dressed people, a multi- 
tude of respectably-dressed people, and a 
picturesque lower orders in weather-tinted 
corduroys, we have, so my friend puts the 
matter, a population arrayed in one mono- 
tonous shabbiness of shoddy make-believe. 
He goes so far as to declare — I know not 
what the tailors will say about so revolu- 
tionary an idea — that cloth is unsuited for 
town wear, and that men should apparel 
themselves in strong linens dyed to rich 
browns, deep reds, and profound blues. A 
tough linen, he says, will never throw off a 
shabby appearance. 

It was this conversation, started after 
dinner by my venerable friend in his Hamp- 
shire library, that inspired me, upon my 
return to the Metropolis, to a study of shabby 
people. I do not mean the multitudes of 
merely dusty black-coated and silk-hatted 
mortals who peregrinate such thoroughfares 
as the Strand and Fleet Street, and whose 
unhandselled appearance is due far more to 
the atmosphere of the town than to any lack 
of convenient guineas ; I mean rather those 
broken gentlemen who mix in the moving 
pageant of the great city, and who declare in 
every spreading seam of their garments, in 
every broken thread of their shoe-leather, 
in every crumpled angle of their hats' brims, 
and in every smudge and smear and smoky 
raff upon their frayed linen, that they have 
gone under in the struggle for existence and 
are become the solitaries of disaster. 

" What has brought these men to their 




poverty and despair ? " I asked myself. 
" What were they five and ten years ago ? 
And where is it, and how is it, that they now 
manage to drag out their existence ? " 

The reader, if his walks have ever taken 
him through Whitehall and along the Strand 
towards the alleys of Fleet Street, may have 
seen a tall and handsome man shuffling 
along in the crowds, with such an air of 
distinction in his countenance that the sorry 
clothes, the napless billycock, and the broken 
boots in which he went could but accentuate 
the dignity of his bearing. And if the reader 
is familiar with the facial traits of English 
aristocracy he must have been struck by the 
compelling likeness which this poor gentle- 
man bore to one of our ducal families. The 
prominent, staring, light coloured eye, the 
heavy face, the long and rounded chin, the 
gradual curve of the head to a broad neck 
and high shoul- 
ders — these, and 
the man's shuf- 
fling gait, loose- 
hanging hands, 
and a habit of 
swinging the head 
slightly from side 
to side as he 
walked, all con- 
spired to breed in 
the mind the 
assurance of some 
near relationship 
to a family of the 
greatest distinc- 
tion and inex- 
haustible wealth. 

This man was 
tramping the 
streets of London 
on an allowance 
of twenty shillings 
a week through a 
blind and insen- 
sate passion for 
a wicked and 
worthless woman. 
At one time he 
had given promise 
of a distinguished 
career. He had 
an ample allow- 
ance from his father, he was happily married, 
the House of Commons was oi>en to him. 
Then came a day when he fell under the magic 
spell of a creature nearly fifteen years his 
senior, and honour, duty, loyalty, the present 
and the future, were cast to the winds for 




her appeasement. He not only broke the 
heart of his wife, a favourite of his father, 
but on the day of her funeral he was dining 
in one of the principal London hotels with 
his evil genius* His father heard of this, 
and immediately cut off his supplies. He 
sold his wife's jewels, gambled frantically for 
fortune, and at last, clumsily enough, forged 
his father's name to a bill. The result was 
not imprisonment, but ruin none the less 
bitter for his pride and hope. The woman 
indignantly cast him off, and only one mem- 
ber of his family, an affectionate maiden 
aunt, could be found to help him. She 
purchased for him an annuity of a pound a 
week and closed her doors to him. Ostracized 
by all his world, too broken and em I jittered 
to attempt any recasting of his ruined life, the 
miserable man surrendered to the poverty 
of his condition. He rented a garret in 

a dreadful alley 
between Fleet 
Street and Hoi* 
born, and spent 
his days between 
visits to free libra- 
ries and in walk- 
ing about fhe 
streets. He was 
fond of French 
literature, and 
spent much of his 
money in pur- 
chasing soiled, 
paper- covered 
copies of his 
favourite authors. 
He cultivated no 
was extremely 
sober in his 
habits, and made 
no effort what- 
ever to win bark 
the support and 
interest of his 
family. He was 
his own cook and 
valet, dusted and 
cleaned his room 
himself, fetched 
and carried every- 
thing that came 
into it. How often he opened his lips in his 
twelve years of ostracism I cannot say, but if 
there was one man in London like to a 
Trappist monk it was this middle-aged cornet 
of an illustrious house. When they found him 
dead on the floor of his garret a French novel 
Original from 





lay open on the arm of his chair, and a half- 
eaten orange stood upon the table. Apoplexy 
struck him down, apparently, as he rose from 
his reading to open a window, 

A more sociable and an infinitely brighter 
vagabond was a man of my acquaintance who 
once haunted the steps of newspaper offices 
in Fleet Street. He was a huge fellow, with 
broad shoulders and long, far-reaching arms, 
which reminded one of 
the claws of a lobster. 
He had small, sand- 
speckled eyes, a blunt 
and rosy nose, a huge 
red moustache burned 
away into blackened 
gaps by the stumps of 
cigarettes, and a short 
chin which twitched 
with some nervous affec- 
tion. His clothes were 
of the dread fullest kind, 
not only threadbare, but 
torn and patched in fifty 
directions, while his 
boots were usually laced 
with odds and ends of 
knotted string. He was 
in the habit, winter and 
summer, of wearing upon 
his hands a pair of 
woollen gloves, and he 
always carried with him 
a mighty stick, which 
was more like a giant s 
cudgel than a gentle- 
man's cane. In spite of 
his tramp-like garments, 
his battered billycock 
hat t his broken boots, 
and the grimy silk hand- 
kerchief bound for collar 
round his throat, there 
was something so genial 
and pleasant in his in- 
tonation that I never 
really failed to derive pleasure from his 

This gentleman was an Irishman of decent 
family, and had soldiered in a regiment of 
Dragoons. A taste for Bohemianism had 
induced him to leave the Army and throw 
himself into the lesser ways of journalism. 
For some years he was a regular contributor 
to one of the sporting papers, famous for its 
irreverence and popular with young men 
for its hinted indecencies. He fell among 
tipplers, and his great book remained un- 
written. He composed his jests at the counter 


of a wine- bar. Day by day he sank deeper 
into the mud. Day by day his natural powers 
abated and his earnings decreased. At 
length he came to the common lodging- 
house, and subsisted on the half-crowns 
grudgingly paid by the daily newspapers for 
what are sometimes called ** items of intel- 

" IVe just sent a beautiful story to the 

4 ,' " he once said 

to me, l[ On my word, 
1 believe my genius is 
sprouting again, the old 
buck ! To-day, you must 
know, is the anniversary 
of Nelson's birthday ; 
he was a countryman 
of mine, but he was 
born by accident in 
England and never quite 
recovered from it ; at 
any rate, he only had 
one arm and one eye, 
and in Ireland all the 
boys are born with two 
of each ; but, as I am 
telling you, this Nelson 
was born down in Nor- 
folk at a place called 
Burnham Thorpe, in 
the year 1758, where 
his father was the rector 
and the family a large 
one. My boy, I've never 
been to Burnham Thorpe 
in my life, but I've 
written to the paper 
saying that as I was 
gazing at the sacred 
rectory this afternoon I 
heard a little sob beside 
me, and there was a 
gentleman all the way 
from Nova Scotia show- 
ing the place to his 
little boy in a Scotch 
sighed the little boy 
I heard the remark 

by Google 

suit ( Oli, papa," 
— you'll understand 
in Burnham Thorpe in half an hour's time 
from now— * Oh, papa, 1 said he, * do you 
think that Nelson is looking down at us 
from heaven?' Twill be quoted in all the 
provincial papers, all the Colonial papers, 
and translated into fifty languages, till I've 
got a circulation as big as Shakespeare, 
who had Irish blood in his veins, An* 
what will I get for it at all ? Half a 
crown ! By George, but it's bad times for 
authors ! " 

Original from 



He sent as many canards flying round the 
world as any journalist who ever set pen to 
paper, but nothing could ever bring a blush 
of shame to his cheeks, u Sure," he would 
say, " I am what they call an imaginative 
writer, and my paragraphs all have a moral 
in them ; and that's what the world wants 
more than money — morality. Look how 
they pay me, for instance ; 'tis immoral" 

I missed him for many weeks, after an 
absence abroad, and, making inquiries about 
him on my return, discovered that he had 
long jjassed out of Fleet Street's know- 
ledge. The paragraphs in the newspapers 
have been duller ever since. How he died, 
or where he died, no man can tell me ; but 
he died in the harness of Apollo, an imagi- 
native writer to the last It was his custom, 
when an idea occurred to him, to pull half a 
sheet of note-paper out of his pocket, and 
write rapidly with the vanishing stump of a 
lead-pencil oft wetted at his lips. I have 
seen him writing on the counter of a wine- 
bar, on the crown of his hat on a ,seat by the 
Thames, even with the paper leaned against 
a shop window in Fleet Street. He wrote 
for the flying hour, and did not even look 
sufficiently ahead to write an epitaph for his 
own tomb. Somewhere in a gloomy London 
cemetery this poet of the pavement lies in a 
nameless grave* 

Shop-walkers and 'bus-conductors, 
it seems to me, disappear immedi- 
ately they reach middle age, Old 
'bus-drivers you may see on every 
pther 'bus that goes by, but a 
whiskered conductor is so great 
an incongruity that one almost starts 
to behold him. Where do they go 
to, these men who vanish from their 
accustomed places with middle age? 
Many a poor father lives bitterly 
on the charity of a poorer son, 
himself struggling with a young 
family. Many, after months and 
months of searching advertisement 
columns, take to tramping the streets 
in search of any chance and some- 
times doubtful work by which they 
can live. They become odd-job 
men, and their wives, by needle- 
work or painting for toy -makers, 
help to keep the wolf from getting 
farther than the threshold. You 
may see these shabby men at all 
hours of the day posting through 
the streets with stern faces, as 
though charged with some impor- 
tant mission. To wear the appear- 

ance of idleness is a shame to them ; 
they must counterfeit activity even if they 
scarcely know how to get through the 
long day. And, I repeat, these men — the 
victims of middle age — seldom lapse into 
evil habits, and practise their code of respect- 
ability to the grave's edge. 

But in London, which holds all the varia- 
tions of humanity, there are many shabby 
people who indulge themselves in their 
slovenly habits, I think everybody must have 
seen the extraordinary man who, stiff as a 
poker, walks like lightning through the 
streets, with a shabby frock-coat buttoned 
tightly over his chest, light check trousers 
turned up above boots thicker than any worn 
by a plough-boy, and whose old silk hat has 
been greased and pomatumed till it looks 
like the coat of a drowned rat. This clean- 
shaven, pale-faced, white-haired young man, 
so I am told, imagines himself to be the 
victim of a world-wide conspiracy, and under 
hib clothes wears a complete set of chain 
armour. He has given notice to Scotland 
Yard that they must protect him from 
assassins ; and the blue foolscap which he so 
often carries under his arm is a document 
declaring to posterity the secret reasons for 
the assassination which is about to overtake 

Then there is an old man who goes about 

^■*\ «* 


by Google 

Original from 



Piccadilly, Park Lane, and the Edgwarc 
Road wearing such clothes as might persuade 
a workman to toss him twopence for a bed 
in a common lodging- ho use. He carries a 
small sack in his hand, and often stoops in 
the gutters to pick up scraps of refuse. His 
face is well-nigh flesh less, his eyes are so dim 
that he can scarcely see, his body is so ill- 
nourished that he has hard work to drag 
it about with him. But, far from suffering 
poverty, this old man is an owner of London 
property, and is said to have amassed by his 
hideous frugality a handsome fortune, for 
which he has no heirs. He has a garret in 
the neighbourhood of the Kdgware Road, will 
not have a soul to look after him, and clings 
with all the passion of a lover for his mistress 
to an indigence which keeps him friendless, 
and a penury which afflicts his body with 
pain and suffering. 

Another shabby 
person whom I ran 
to earth was a once 
flourishing Arm v 
tutor, and a man of 
some family distinc- 
tion. He might have 
stepped out of a 
C ru i k shan k drawing 
or from the pages of 
Dickens* He was a 
sad sloven, and yet 
by a swaggering man- 
ner and a rich flavour 
of conversation con- 
ferred a kind of 
dignity upon his rags. 
He was a man of 
middle height, with 
a fat, round, flabby 
face, a loose, jovial 
mouth, shrewd little 
pig's eyes, and a 
square, well - set - up 
figure. He was bald, 
but plastered across 
his he d a plait of 
hair which was always 
slipping back wards 
and forwards, and 
which would some- 
times stck up in the 
air like the crest of 

a cockatoo, He wore a black cut-away 
coat which age had tinted a bottle-green, 
and his waistcoat, which had a habit 
of wrinkling up over his chest, betrayed a 
leather belt round his middle, from whose 
control his greasy trousers were perpetually 

by Google 

slipping down- He wore a cheap pair of 
spectacles with a bad crack across one of the 
glasses, and usually talked to one with these 
glasses pushed up on his forehead. He had 
a rollicking manner, and during conversation 
was wont to pace up and down the room 
brandishing a long black ebony ruler* 

This fine fellow earned a precarious living 
by teaching shorthand and making a book 
on horse-races. He would take a stake of 
a shilling or half a crown with the air of a 
Cabinet Minister receiving his salary. Stand- 
ing before a blackboard, flourishing a piece 
of chalk in his hand, and lecturing on the 
mysteries of Pitmanic hieroglyphics to three 
or four half-starved clerks who paid him a 
few pence for a lesson, he would pause every 
now and then to answer a tap at the door, 
and receive from some shopman or clerk on 

the landing a scrap 
of paper and a coin. 
All this he did with a 
fine, careless rapture, 
never losing a fraction 
of his dignity, and 
never giving the hum- 
blest of his students 
an impression of 
broken fortunes. He 
appeared to be teach- 
ing s h or t h an d because 
he loved it, and he 
took a shilling stake 
on a horse as if he 
were labouring his 
hardest to better the 
backer's fortune. 

To this strange and 
shabby life my friend 
had descended, step 
by step, from a sheer 
inability to stick to 
anything for a long 
time. He had given 
up his Army tutoring 
because it bored him, 
and had embarked 
on the career ot a 
speculator because he 
thought himself sure 
of financial genius. 
Failing here, he had 
devoted himself to 
the life of an inventor, and had taken out 
more patents for useless contrivances than 
even he could remember. 

Then he had gone in for authorship, 
and his religious novels, his problem novels, 
his crime novels, his society novels, and 

Original from 


living by teaching shorthand/' 



his political squibs (all unpublished) are 
as numerous a progeny as the children of 
Dumas. Always he was dreaming of making 
a fortune p and always— dragging down with 
him a wife and three daughters for whom he 
professed the tenderest affection — he was 
sinking deeper and deeper in the scale. 
And yet no man ever walked the London 
streets with a jauntier step or preserved 
such high and 
generous spirits 
through all the 
chances of this 
mortal life. 

But while 
men of this kind 
are numerous 
enough in Lon- 
don — and if one 
had the (time 
one might well 
among them 
some of the 
strangest and 
rarest characters 
ever met with in 
fiction — still the 
vast multitude of 
shabby people 
belong to an in- 
finitely depress- 
ing and mo- 
notonous bri- 
gade of social 
failures, whose 
tragedy is their 
age rather than 
any kink, inter- 
esting or amus- 
ing, in their 

Let the reader 
keep his eyes 
open as he 
walks about London, and he will see on 
every side of him the broken soldiers of this 
innumerable army- The old journalist, the 
old clerk, the old actor, the old shopman, 
the old nondescripts of those odd and multi- 
farious employments whose very names are 
unknown to most of us — there they go, pen- 
sionless, comfortless, and homeless, living on 
the gratuities of their children and seeking 
in chance employments to ^arn a casual 
sixpence for their hunger. 

Among these people you may see often 

the ocd ci;hath, thkeadhak 


enough the old curate, threadbare and 
broken, pacing the streets with eyes that see 
nothing. Down — down — down, till a stage 
is reached at which hunger is only a numbing 
sensation so constant as to arouse no suffer 
ing, and the blood becomes so habitually 
chilled that frost and bitter winds make 
little difference to normal discomfort. The 
common lodging-houses, the miserable garrets 

in court and 
alley, and the 
cheap bedrooms 
in small subur- 
ban streets are 
always full of 
shabby people. 
And in the 
streets, jostling 
shoulders with 
them, move the 
dressed> middle- 
aged men in 
constant employ- 
ment, before 
whose eyes fs 
the perpetual 
menace of dis- 
charge and 

My old friend 
in Hampshire will have it that 
a false idea of respectability is 
at the bottom of this tremen- 
dous, if sordid, tragedy. " People," 
he says, "have given up thrift 
to cut a petty figure in the social 
world. They live in houses whose 
rents are too dear for them, and 
wear clothes which are unsuited 
to their employments. Instead of 
saving up for a rainy day, instead of 
a wise insurance and a healthy 
humility of outlook, the masses of 
men and women in London are always 
pushing on to a nearer and nearer imitation 
of the rich, which, while it brings them no 
real comfort of soul, infallibly leads them 
into ultimate ruin and despair."' 

Whatever the cause, for him who has eyes 
to see the streets of London are crowded 
with the derelicts of social progress, and only 
the angel of pity knows how much sorrow, 
how much patience, and how much faerc&tn 
are concealed under the fading and thread- 
bare shoddy of the city's shabby people. 


• I hvis 

Vol. hxmVh — 37* 

by Google 

Original from 

Sufcorkey Timms, His Mairks 


HIS is another tale of Snorkey 
Timms, the disreputable ac- 
quaintance of whom I have 
written in other places. It is 
now years since I saw Snorkey, 
and I never had the faintest 
excuse for such an acquaintanceship, except 
that he was an amusing scoundrel and full of 
information that cannot be derived from any 
person of the smallest respectability. Many 
of his adventures he has told me himself; 
some I have learned from other sources ; 
this came to me in hints and instalments, 
both ways. 

It was at a time long after Snorkey's 
adventure with the bags of bricks at Liverpool 
Street, after he had told it me in a faro-house 
at Whitechapel ; the time, in fact, was when 
the banker at that same faro-table was the 
envy of Snorkey's soul and his ideal of 
sublunary good fortune. From Snorkey's 
point of view, indeed, there was reason. 
Snorkey was a mere Cockney picker-up of 
trifles — and other things — that were not 
too carefully watched ; Mr. Issy Marks 
during the day was a wholesale merchant 
with a fancy-goods warehouse in a little turn- 
ing out of Houndsditch, and in the evening 
he sat at the receipt of custom at the faro- 
den, the only man at the table who always 
won. Indeed, he paid the proprietor fifteen 
shillings an hour for the privilege of sitting 
banker, and made a very handsome thing of 
it on the top of that. Why Snorkey and 
others like him should have persisted in con- 
tributing nightly to Mr. Issy Marks's income 
was not a question easily to be resolved by 
the impartial observer ; the language where- 
with they signalized their regular losses wholly 
precluded the supposition that they did it 
out of sheer benevolence to Mr. Marks. Yet 
they were far from being fools in the ordinary 
sense, and, in fact, were rather apt to pride 
themselves on their general knowingness ; 
still they came, stood before the eight squares 
chalked on the table, saw their stakes de- 
crease and vanish by a system which plainly 
and obviously must benefit the banker all 
through, and nobody else, went away poor 
and angry, and came again the next night 
and all the nights after that to lose more 

Copyright, xoo8, by 

Digitized by ^OOglC 

money. There was no reason in it, but there 
was the phenomenon, and Mr. Marks did 
very well out of it, as did many another 
" banker " in many another gambling-house 
in those parts. 

For this, and for the presumed wealth in 
the fancy-goods business, Mr. Issy Marks 
was regarded with much envy. The business 
had its place in a humpbacked little old 
house that stood uncomfortably shouldered 
and squeezed between two larger buildings, 
not so old but quite as dirty, in a rather 
grimy little street that led from Houndsditch 
to some undiscovered region beyond. There 
were bigger houses among them than Mr. 
Marks's, and busier ; but his had the reputa- 
tion — at least among his humbler admirers 
— of carrying a solid trade of the sort 
called " snug." 

Now, it was the quaint and interesting 
custom of Snorkey, and all his friends of 
like habits, to inspect very often and with 
loving care the premises of prosperous persons 
who aroused their respect and envy, as Mr. 
Marks had done Snorkey's. They counted 
the windows and speculated on the probable 
interior fastenings of doors. They peeped 
through keyholes unobserved, affectionately 
patted shutters, and groped inquiringly about 
their iron fastenings. Their kindly interest even 
extended to the houses adjoining, the roofs, 
ladders, trap-doors, and possible means of 
intercommunication. They have been known 
to stand in cold streets for hours watching 
the lights on the window-blinds that screened 
the objects of their solicitude, and even the 
most careless of them never omitted to make 
sympathetic, if unostentatious, inquiries as 
to the comings and goings of the inmates 
and the exact positions of their sleeping 

Snorkey, therefore, was aware that Mr. 
Issy Marks's warehouse was locked up and 
left to itself at night. He knew, also, that 
the back of the place could be reached 
from a paved alley by the scaling of an easy 
wall ; that packing-cases littered the back- 
yard ; and that any person standing on one 
or two of the largest could reach a window 
that was not barred. Such things as these 
were always among the first noticed by 

Arthur Morrison. 




Snorkey in any house in which lie took art 
intelligent interest. And, as regards this par 
ticular house, observation had taught him 
other things also. For instance, although 
the stock generally was not of a costly 
description, there was a good deal of cheap, 
thin, showy silver, which would melt down 
just as well as the same metal in heavier and 
more expensively- finished pieces* There was 
a little safe in the back room on the ground 
floor, and there was all the possibility of a 
little jewellery. On the whole, Snorkey 
decided that he had 
fallen in love with 
Mr. Marks's ware- 
house, and must 
take an early oppor- 
tunity to scrape a 
closer acquaintance. 

The opportunity, 
in fact, seemed to 
be occurring every 
night ; so that be- 
tween the moment 
when Snorkey fully 
realized the state of 
his affections and 
the evening on 
which he seized his 
opportunity very few 
hours elapsed. 

It was Mr. 
Marks's habit to 
bolt and bar his 
warehouse at seven 
each evening and 
bid it and its busi- 
ness farewell till the 
next morning — for 
he lived at Mile 
End, On the even- 
ing of Snorkey's 
venture he left as 
usual, and Snorkey, 
from a convenient 
entry, saw him go. 
So much being 
ascertained, the 
ad ven t u re r 1 oi ter ed 
an hour amid the 
society of the Three 
Tuns, and then leisurely took his way to the 
faro ** club," 

This place was reached by w T ay of an 
innocent-looking door, with a very respectable 
electric bell, at the end of a little court of newly- 
built offices and shops. If you were known, 
the door instantly opened to your ring ; if you 
were not, you might ring the battery down 

Digitized by OOOQ IC. 


without effect. That was because the door- 
keeper sat on a pair of steps within, with his 
eye near the fanlight. Snorkey Timms was no 
stranger, and with no more delay than sufficed 
for the silent opening and closing of the 
door and a careful groping through a long 
passage he emerged into the light and noise of 
the gambling- room. Mr. Marks was there as 
usual, with a cigar in his mouth f his bat at the 
back of his head, and his eyes on the cards he 
was shuffling and dealing on the table before 
him. An eager little crowd was clubbed 

thickly round the 
other three sides of 
the table, the rear 
rank climbing on 
the backs of the 
ranks before them, 
every man with his 
hand thrust out to 
its fullest reach, fol- 
lowing the fortunes 
of his stake where 
it lay on the chalked 
diagram, and eager 
to snatch at the 
winnings that came 
so sparsely, 

Snorkey staked a 
shilling, partly be- 
cause he was always 
ready to gamble, 
and partly because, 
in view of the pos- 
sible events of the 
night, it was not 
"the game" to make 
himself conspicuous 
by a change in his 
usual habits on this 
particular evening. 
The shilling went 
into Mr, Marks's 
heap, followed 
quickly by another, 
and two more, and 
some others after 

. " Banker's J avin' 
all the luck again," 
remarked a friend 
to Snorkey. " Turns up the card with most 
agin it every time, an' Vs halved stakes 
eight times since I come in." 

Snorkey tried a double chance with two 
shillings, and lost them in successive turns, 

" No good — it's givin 1 1m yer money 
to-night," remarked the friend, M There's a 
chap over there's bin puttin* down half quids 



2 ?6 


knocking over something with a thunderous 

Snorkey was cautious and slow, for there 
was no need to hurry. He reached the wall 
of the house and stood to listen. It was a 
still night — too still for such an enterprise as 
Snorkey's \ small sounds were very clear. 
But then> if every burglar refused to work 
except in perfect conditions, the whole 
industry would come to a standstill. 

There was no sound to cause uneasiness. 
There was the tread of a policeman, of 
course, but that was reassuring. It is a 
pleasant sound in the ear of a burglar, 
audible for an enormous distance, giving 
him confidence ; when he cannot hear it he 
is never sure that the policeman isn't watch- 
ing him. This friendly sound came from 
Houndsditch, harmoni- 
ously beating time for the 
now subdued hum of 
London. The sky was 
clear and cloudless above, 
though dark ; and a few 
stars looked down on 
Snorkey's experiment and 
winked encouragingly. 

It is not easy to set one 
rough packing-case firmly 
on another, on a dark 
night, without 
noise ; and when 
you have done it, 
even with a little 
noise, it is still 
more difficult to 
climb on the top 
case without a great 
deal more noise 
still, and more than 
a chance of a 
clamorous tumble. 
were surmounted, 
and once the win- 
dow was reached, 
that offered no 
difficulties at all 
For Snorkey had 
brought his tools. 
First, a catch-'em- 
alive-oh paper, 
doubled inward, so 
as to go safely in the 
pocket. This, being 
carefully opened 
out, was spread over 
the pane nearest the 


ANOTllfcft, OH A PAKK NUiHT, WITHOUT W>%S*U?. , £ ™" J ■»«»»"« *""* 

■ OOgle ^ng^al from 

an 1 quids, and never savin' a stake, Marks's 
luck's in to-night" 

As a fact, the banker's luck always is in at 
faro, but tonight it was favouring him so 
welt that even the punters noticed it ; and 
punters at faro must either be blind in 
general to the banker's luck or take it as 
a matter of course. As his loose silver 
dwindled and Mr* Marks's heap of money 
rose, Snorkey grew the more resolved on his 
project for the night, and more and more 
persuaded that his claim on the Marks estate 
was a justifiable and, indeed, almost a 
legal one. 

He stayed about the faro- table till near 
eleven, and then sauntered quietly out. It 
was scarce more than five minutes' walk to 
the house by Houndsditch, and the street, 
the warehouse, and 
the alley behind 
were all quiet and 
dark, But there 
was a light in ft top 
window in the 
house to the left of 
Marks's, and, as 
Snorkey had the 
whole night before 
him for his adven- 
ture, he waited, and 
took a turn about 
the streets to kill 

When he returned 
it was nearer twelve 
than eleven, and 
the lodger in the 
next house was in 
bed. Snorkey 
wasted no more 
time, but hurried 
into the paved alley 
and scaled the wall 

Mr. Marks's 
back-yard was an 
u n co m 1 u i' 1 1\ h I c 
place to traverse by 
night, short as the 
distance was ; for 
unseen boxes and 
cases met the shins 
and knuckles of 
the explorer, and, 
while the quietest 
possible progress 
involved some 
amount of noise, 
there was always 
the danger of 




smacked in the middle with the flat hand. 
The pane was abolished, and came away in 
a hundred fragments, all sticking to the paper, 
and all quiet. Then it needed but the 
insertion of a hand to open the catch, and 
the window was conquered. 

Snorkey climbed in, shut the window 
quietly, and pulled down the blind — a thing 
that Mr Marks had neglected. Then he 
produced some more tools. First, a lantern 
made of a little tin box with a stump of 
candle in it, so that light was only thrown 
where needed, and a puff would quench it. 

Now when the scrap of candle was lit, the 
first thing revealed to his sight was not at all 
what Snorkey was looking for. It was, in 
fact, a heap of shavings on the floor — wet 
shavings. It was partly under a table which 
was piled above with cardboard boxes, many 
of them broken. The boxes seemed damp, 
too, and when Snorkey approached to 
examine them he grew aware of a distinct 
smell of paraffin oil. There was nothing in 
the boxes, it would seem, but more shavings, 
and paper — also wet. Snorkey's eyebrows 
lifted and his lips pursed. But he saved the 
whistle for a future occasion. 

He looked about the room. The walls 
were lined with shelves and stacked with 
boxes, but there seemed very little in the 
boxes. Mr. Marks appeared to be stocking 
a deal of straw and dirty paper ; also shavings, 
again. But there was one box of hair- 
brushes which much interested Snorkey. 
He knew that Marks sold many of those 
cheap, silver-backed hair-brushes whereof 
the silver covering behind, thin as paper, was 
stamped into much highly-relieved ornament, 
with a view to a spurious massiveness 
of appearance ; and he had designed to 
rip off those silver backs with a jack-knife 
and roll them up for easier transport. Well, 
here were the very brushes. But the silver 
backs had been ripped off already ! 

Snorkey dropped the lid on the box and 
saved up another whistle. Then he went 
out on the landing (where there were more 
shavings) and down the narrow stairs almost 
into another heap of shavings at the 
bottom. He made straight for the little safe, 
pulling from his inner coat pocket as he 
went the "stick" whose Christian name is 
James or Jemmy. 

It was an elegant little weapon, with a fine 
chisel end, and he began by thrusting that 
chisel end in the crack of the door near the 
top. There are some of these cheap safes 
from which you may tear off the outer plate 
of the door in this very elementary way. 

Digitized by G< 

This, however, did not seem to be one of 
them, for the immediate result was nothing 
but the breaking of a fragment from the point 
of the "James." 

Snorkey gazed ruefully at the broken point, 
for he had borrowed the tool, and then gave 
a twist to the cross handle in the middle of 
the door. The safe was unlocked ! 

The door swung open and disclosed 
account-books and nothing else. At the 
bottom were two little drawers, which were 
certainly locked, but came open with bent 
fronts at the first wrench of the "stick." 
They were empty. 

Snorkey looked round the room and shook 
his head despondently. There was a perfect 
wealth of common shell boxes and cheap 
sponges here, but that was not the sort of 
wealth he had come for. The room also had 
its heap of shavings, piled against a stack of 
the shell boxes, and a three-gallon can of 
paraffin oil stood near it. 

He entered the shop very quietly, for now 
he might be heard from the street. The 
stock he disregarded, but tried the till. It 
contained not so much as a button. Clearly 
this was not the venture Snorkey had looked 
for. He shook his head again and returned 
to the back room. Then he very deliberately 
pocketed his tools, blew out his candle, and 
sat on the stairs to wait for Mr. Marks. For 
he had seen things that made him expect him. 

It was very quiet, and more than a little 
dull. But presently the humour of the 
situation so presented itself to Snorkey that 
the silence was broken by a chuckle, which 
grew into something rather like a snigger. 
Mr. Marks would find an unexpected card 
had turned up, this deal ! 

The church clocks began to strike twelve, 
some near, some far, and presently St. 
Botolph's, clanging loud and close. In the 
midst of the strokes there was a thump at 
the front door ; startling for the moment, 
but only a policeman testing the fastenings. 
His receding tramp was quite clear, now that 
the clocks had ceased to strike. 

Mr. Marks was very slow, and more than 
once Snorkey was in danger of falling asleep. 
He was listening for the stroke of one, and 
wondering if he might already have missed 
it by dozing, when at last there came the 
expected click in the lock, and with extra- 
ordinary suddenness Marks was in the shop 
with the door closed behind him. Plainly 
he must have been watching his opportunity, 
and had reached the door and turned the 
familiar lock swiftly and quietly. And in 
another moment . he was groping in the 




back room, within two yards of his visitor, 
Snorkey ft It for his matches and his lantern, 
but as he did so a match was struck in the 
middle of the room, and revealed Marks in 
the act of lighting a lantern of his own, 
Snorkey waited till the flame was well estab- 
lished and the lantern closed, and then said, 
cheerfully, "Ah ! Good mumin', Mr, Marks ! n 
With a bounce and a faint yelp Mr. Marks 
sprang back against a pile of boxes, livid 

ha 1 made a good stroke o' business to night ; 
shavings, or waste jjaper, or paraffin. Not 
wan tin* 'em I've repented. Lock me up." 

Mr, Marks clapped his hand distractedly 
to the side of his head. u You go — go 
avay ! " he said. 

Sfiorkey shook his head, put down the 
lantern, and sat on the edge of the table. 
"Couldn't think of it," he said "Couldn't 
think o' goin' away now, after all the wicked- 


and gasping, with a terrified whimper in his 

" All right, Mr. Marks : Don't jump ! 
It's only me ! Quite a old friend ! " And 
Snorkey lifted the lantern and held it by the 
side of his face t whereon flickered something 
vastly like a grin. 

"Vat d'you — d'you vain ? :t gasped Marks, 
panting with the shock. Ei Vat d'you vant ? " 

" Want to give uieself up/' answered 
Snorkey, crisply, "Burglary— breakin' an 1 
enteriii' ; Fm a J orrid criminal I broke in." 

XLirks gulped twice before he got a word 
out. " You broke in? " he repeated, 

" Burglariously busted your back window, 
an* been waitm' 'ere about an hour an' a 'alf 
to confess, Fve repented/* 

" Vou — you— vat?" 

" I've repented. Anybody would as didn't 
come for shavings. If IYJ wanted shavings I'd 

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n ess Fve committed. M y con sc ience wo u Idn ' t 
stand it. You fetch the p'liee an' 'ave me 
punished proper," 

Mr. Marks looked up and down the room 
and toward the shop and up the stairs, 
thoughtfully. The shock of surprise was 
passing, to be succeeded by a desperate per- 

"All right/' he said at length. "I don't 
want to punish you ; you can go." 

M No, no,' 1 Snorkey replied, cordially. 
M Don't you let your feeling get worked on, 
Mr. Marks, You dun no what a 'orrid chap 
Fve bin. CV course, Fve repented now, but 
that was only 'cos of the shavings. You can't 
rightly count a repentance 'cos of shavings — 
not by the proper rules*" 

u (io along," answered Marks, with a furtive 
lowering of voice. u I tell you 1 von't say 
noddin' about it. Ye understand each other." 
Original from 




Snorkey shook his head. u I doubt it, 
Mr. Marks," he sighed. " It ain't easy for a 
gent like you to understand a thorough 
wrong 'un like me ; anyhow, it seems a bit 
'ard this time. You don't mean to say you 
forgive me — goin' to take mercy on me ? " 

"Yes; go on." 

" Mr. Marks, you're a nobleman. I'm 
willin' enough ; I can be took mercy on — on 
very reasonable terms. My little — er — com- 
mission, as you might say, for bein' forgiven 
ought to be about fifty quid, I should say, 
this time." 

" Vat ? " 

" Fifty quid, I said. You see, it wants 
rather a lot o' forgiveness for a burglary as 
wicked as this. The drawers in your safe's 
all bent anyhow, an' your first-floor back 
window's quite shockin'." 

"You've got a fine cheek," snarled Mr. 
Marks, by this time much recovered. "Vy 
you expect me to pay anyting ? You're lucky 
not to be took up ! " 

" What I said meself ! " replied Snorkey. 
" Fetch the p'lice. Or I'll go an' fetch 'em if 
you like," 

" No, no ! But fifty quid's ridic'luth ! 
Besides, I got no money here ! " 

"All right; I'll wait here for it till the 
momin\ It's warmer 'ere than out in the 
cold, unfeelin' streets." 

" No, no ! You must go ! Now, come, 
be reathonable, Mr. Thnorkey. I'll see you 
to-morrow an' make it all right. Tholemn 
vord I vill ! " 

Snorkey winked and shook his head in- 
exorably. " You don't understand the wicked 
feelin's of a 'ardened criminal, Mr. Marks. 
D'ye know, I'm sunk that low I wouldn't take 
your word for it ! I wouldn't ! Shockin', 
ain't it?" 

" But fifty's out o' reathon. It'th abthurd ! " 

" Well, beat me down, Mr. Marks. Offer 
me forty." 

" No, no — ridicl'uth. I've got a quid vid 
me ; pVaps thirty bob." 

" Ridic'lous, too, ain't it ? Why, I've 
broke the point of a tool as is worth as much 
as that. And if I 'adn't turned up the place 
might 'a' 'bin afire ! It might, the dangerous 
way things like paraffin is left about ! It 
might 'a' broke out any minute if it 'adn't 
bin for me." 

" I'll give ye five quid, come ! " 

" Can't be done at the price. My con- 
science won't allow it ; it's a special good 
conscience, is mine. It comes a lot dearer 
than that ! " 

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" But ven I've got no more vat can I do ? " 

"Just now you 'adn't got no more than 
thirty bob ; now it's growed to five quid. If 
I stop 'ere you'll be a millionaire by the 
mornin', Mr. Marks, Exquire, an' all through 
me. I'll stop." 

"No, no; be a thport, Mr. Thnorkey, an' 
give a man a chance. Vat'll you take— 
reathonable ? " 

" Ah, you see, it's growed a bit more 
a'ready. I said it would. You'd better let 
me stop, for your own sake. But if you'd 
really rather not, why, 1 think I can make a 
better guess at what you've got on you 
than you can yourself. If you've got five 
quid, an' a bit more, on ye, it means you 
'aven't took your winnin's home from the club 
yet. You always change the silver afore you 
come away, I know. I guess twenty quid. If 
there's more — why, you can keep it for your 
honesty. But that's my charge — ab-so ! " 

Time was going, and as a fact the sum in 
Mr. Marks's pockets was well above his tor- 
mentor's estimate. He thought for a moment, 
looked into Snorkey's eyes with a gaze of 
agonized reproach, turned his back, and 
counted out the money in gold. Tl^en he 
turned again with a sigh and paid it over. 

" He seemed quite out o* temper payin* 
over that little bit," Snorkey said, long after- 
ward, relating the adventure. " Quite rusty he 
was. 'Adn't got what you might call a sense 
of 'umour, I s'pose. Some people ain't. But 
I told 'im very cheerful to be careful about 
strikin' matches an' such, with all them com — 
combustious things about, an* I come away. 
I come down the street, an' turned into 
Houndsditch, an' there what should I see but 
a fire-alarm post You know where it is — 
just at the corner. Well, you know, I felt a bit 
nervous about Mr. Marks. It was a danger- 
ous kind o' place for anybody to be about in 
with a light, an' somehow I 'ad a 'orrid sort o' 
presentiment that the 'ouse might catch afire 
after all. You know the way one o' them 
presentiments gets 'old of you, sometimes. 
Well, this 'ere one o' mine was that strong that 
I took my chance with the alarm. I smashed 
the glass, an' I tugged the 'andle till I very 
near tugged it out, an' then I ran 'ome fast, 
'cos it was late. 

"An' the most remarkable co-in-mlence 
about the 'ole thing was— when the fire- 
engines got round there, there was a fire ! 
There was, on my solemn davy ! Wasn't 
it wonderful ? An' Mr. Marks got in sich a 
muddle explainin' 'ow the accident 'appened 
that they gave him two years' hard ! " 

Original from 

3SE Ju5S 3g£ 


Tie Opinions of Eminent Painters. 

Illustrations from Photographs 
Bond Street, 

HE beauty of women appeals 
to all men, but not to all men 
alike; and artists, particularly 
those who have devoted them- 
selves to the limning of the 
human figure, are supposed to 
have strongly-pronounced preferences of their 
own. With a view of putting these prefer- 
ences to the test, we have submitted a selec- 
tion of the photographs of eight of the most 
beautiful women of to-day to a number of 
representative figure-painters. The result is 
indicated in the following pages. 

One of these photographs, which we have 
numbered "3," is awarded the palm by no 
fewer than five artists, these being Sir Luke 
Fildes, R.A., Mr. J. W. Waterhouse, R.A., 
Mr. Arthur Hacker, A.R.A., the Hon. John 
Collier, and Mr. Byam Shaw. The one 
point on which all these authorities were 
agreed was the beauty of the lady's eyes. 

" Her eyes," said Mr. Hacker, " are most 
feeling and expressive. Of course, I am not 
looking at any of the portraits from the point 
of view of costume or photography. I am 
simply having regard to the face. As photo- 
graphs and examples of photography one or 
two of the others rather attract me, but the 
features are either simpering or stupid." 

" If I had to select one of these ladies," 
said Mr. Waterhouse, " as a model for paint- 
ing, I should have no hesitation about my 
choice. The lady of my preference, indeed, 
reminds me very much of one of my models. 
After she had been sitting to me for some 

by Google 

by Lafayette, Ltd., 179, New 
London, W. 

time she went on the stage, and, succeeding 
in obtaining fairly important parts, she 
naturally did not care to resume her former 
profession, and for some time I have lost 
sight of her. She sat only for the face. The 
face, as in this photograph, is so singularly 
beautiful that I was very sorry to lose the 
opportunity of painting it, and I have written 
once or twice lately to the lady's old address, 
but without obtaining a reply." 

The following was the Hon. John Collier's 
comment on the series of photographs. 
" This " (indicating No. 3) " is the one which 
appeals to me," said the painter, whose 
subject- pictures of ladies belonging to what 
is called " the Smart Set " have been a feature 
of the Royal Academy during the past few 
years. " She has. a really fine face with plenty 
of character about it." 

Mr. Byam Shaw kindly examined the 
photographs submitted to him, and made 
a most careful comparison between them, 
but when his choice was made in favour 
of No. 3 he had practically nothing to say 
in explanation of it. But it was made with 
something like enthusiasm, and as he said 
good-bye he exclaimed, " I shall look out for 
my beauty in The Strand Magazine." 

Sir Luke Fildes was equally emphatic in 
his judgment, but he also gave it almost 
without comment. 

The other most popular candidate proved 
to be No. 2. She secured the votes of 
Mr. Marcus Stone, R.A., Mr. Solomon J. 
Solomon, R,A., and Mr. Ellis Roberts, who, 

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though not numbered in the ranks of the 
Academicians, has won renown as a painter 
of beautiful women's portraits. 

Mr. Stone at once made the criticism that 
several other artists had done when he passed 
the batch of photographs in review before 
him. "There is not, in my opinion," he said, 
" sufficient individuality about any of these 
photographic examples. For one thing they 
are nearly all dressed in the fashion of to-day. 
One lady's photograph, indeed, would serve 
admirably as a fashion-plate. The present- 
ment of women in a more abstract way is 
what appeals to an artist, I think; In two 
or three years portraits painted as these 
photographs have been taken would become 
obsolete. I am, fortunately, not a portrait- 
painter, but if 1 were I should always try to 
induce my sitters to allow themselves to be 
painted in costumes which are not dis- 
tinctively of the moment. Our best portrait- 
painters do this, I believe, but, of course, 
they are sometimes obliged to give way to 
ladies who desire to be painted in the most 
up-to-date fashion. What I mean is well 
illustrated in some of the later portraits of 
Sir Joshua Reynolds. The ladies are painted 
in drapery or some other kind of dress which 
looks as well to-day as when it was painted." 

Mr. Solomon in replying took the trouble 
to " place " all the eight photographs accord- 
ing to the order of his preference, the first 
position, as already indicated, being given to 
No. 2. 

Mr. Ellis Roberts was frankly enthusiastic 
in their praise. " I fear you have set me an 
impossible task," he complained. " How' 
can I make a selection when all are 

u The real difficulty, however, lies in the 
fact that an exceedingly beautiful woman 
sometimes makes an indifferent photograph. 
Again, some ladies look beautiful from every 
point of view, whilst others are limited to one 
or two positions. 

"In awarding the 'golden apple' to the 
most beautiful woman, one ought to see the 
ladies themselves. If I must make a selec- 
tion among the eight photographs, I would 
name No. 2." 

" I should say," remarked Mr. G. D. Leslie, 
R.A., "that the one marked '4' was taken 
from the oest-looking girl. The * cauliflower* 
style of dressing the hair now in fashion is 
very trying to the beauty of most young 
ladies. Hair is lovely, but the shape, size, 
and situation of the padded masses at present 
worn are entirely out of graceful harmony 
with natural beauty." 


" You have set me a difficult task," said 
Sir James Linton, late President of the Royal 
Institute of Painters in Water-Colours, when 
the photographs were submitted to his criti- 
cal judgment, "as all the ladies are beautiful, 
and all have, as is natural, some little draw- 
back -even the one I select. No. 4 is over- 
powered by the enormous mass of hair ; she 
would do much more justice to her beautiful 
features if her hair were more closely dressed. 
I have drawn a line in pipeclay, easily 
removed by a piece of dry bread, to show 
what I mean." 

Thus dealt with, the lady's coiffure, as 
shown on the photograph, was reduced in its 
dimensions by more than one half. In this 
criticism, it will be observed, Sir James 
Linton and Mr. I^eslie were at one. 

" Still, in spite of the hair," continued Sir 
James, " I think she is the most beautiful, 
though so closely run by two or three of the 
others as to have made it difficult for me to 
definitely select." 

Of the eight photographs, it will thus 
be seen that only three have obtained the 
favour of any of the Royal Academicians 
and other artists who have consented 
to pass judgment upon them. No. 3 is 
supported by five votes, No. 2 by three, 
while two artists declare for No. 4. 

We wonder whether this award is in 
accordance with predominant opinion on the 
part of readers of The Strand Magazine. 
Whilst some have hesitated to express any 
preference of all these living subjects of the 
camera, others have found great difficulty in 
doing so owing to the high standard, judged 
by the same criterion, to which they all 
attain. The least enthusiastic opinion of 
all, moreover, to which any of the artists 
give expression happens to be bestowed 
upon the photograph of the lady who secures 
from his brother painters the largest measure 
of approval. 

The truth, perhaps, is that the ideal beauty 
of the artist is never, or scarcely ever, em- 
bodied in one woman. When he paints his 
ideal beauty it is usually with the assistance 
of several models, one woman sitting for eyes 
and nose, another for mouth and neck, and 
so on. There are instances to the contrary, 
of course, such as Rossetti's "Miss Siddal, ' 
the lady who afterwards became his wife, and 
Lord Leighton's "Dorothy Dene." But 
many artists have recorded how impossible 
they have found the search for any one model 
to embody all the graces and charms of 
womanhood as they exist in the ideal woman 
of their imagination. A painter has this 


29 ^ 


among other advantages over the photo 
graph er — that he can quite conveniently 
produce his picture from several models. 
The photographer, in the production of his 
picture, is limited by the mechanical action 
of the camera to one. To him may, there 
fore, well be denied that presentment of a 
[>erfect vision of loveliness which becomes 
almost a commonplace achievement on the 
part of the painter. 

By way of contrast, the eight photographs 
were submitted to a jury of laymen chosen 
indiscriminately from friends and acquaint- 
ances* Their verdict was more or less 
favourable to the whole eight The ladies 
favoured by I lie artists were also favoured 
by them in equally eulogistic terms, whilst 
those which had made no appeal to artistic 
eyes were the subject of obviously sincere 

Of No. i it was said— or implied — that 
the photograph was an example of beauty in 
repose, the beauty which, apart from the 
uniformity of the physical features, owes so 
much to placidity of temperament and 
serenity of soul- "This is evidently the 
portrait of a woman," it was said, "who 
unites a beautiful character with a t>eautifiil 
face. It is not the beauty, perhaps, which 
would carry men off their feet — metaphors 
cally speaking, of course— in the whirl of the 
ball - room. She could never exercise the 
fascination of the coquette, but she could 
excite the love which is stronger than death.'' 

Of the more dazzling kind of personal 
charm, it was agreed that there was ample 
manifestation in the photograph of No. 6. 
There was the slightest suggestion of self- will, 
perhaps, about the lips, but it was more than 
redeemed by the urbanity expressed in the 
eyes. The delicate poise of the nose accorded 
well with the perfect contour of the neck — 
so excellently set off by the corsage — and 
with the tresses of luxuriant hair combined 
to present a picture of fair womanhood such 
as one might not see twice in the course of 
a London season, 

Of the more generous physique of No, 7 
praise equally unstinted came from other 
members of our lay jury. The rounder 
features of this lady were of a softer and, to 
them, even more attractive type of beauty, 
which was brought into admirable relief 
by the Greek drapery in which the sitter or 
the photographer had chosen to have the 
picture taken. Hie half turned face, perhaps, 
did not do the lady full justice. It suggested 
a charming, warm-hearted creature of the 
kind which can fulfil with equal success the 
rSlt of social queen or devoted mother. 
Finally, the graceful, well - proportioned 
figure of No. 8, with the half-wistful, half- 
smiling countenance, was not without its 
admirers. Thus the case stands between 
the artist -judges and the lay jury, The 
appeal is now to the vox populi as repre- 
sented by the readers of The Strand 
Mao a* ink. 

by Google 

Original from 

NE day, carrying a 
long instrument bag, 
he came out of the 
little surgery above 
the chemist's shop, 
and made his name. 
Bdore that it had been hard going with him. 
Young, poor, without prestige, a new name in 
the town, his office in a mean quarter, the only 
I>atients he had were those who did not pay. 
But after he accomplished that miracie-like 
thing by the railway track, where a great 
crowd saw him bring back to life a boy who 
had been pulled out of a tank-car, presumably 
long dead from oil fumes, the broad way rose 
easily for him to a di^zy summit of success. 

No more now of the little surgery, with 
its scant furniture, dingy windows, and the 
smoke-belching engines thundering by out- 
side. No more rye- sandwiches and beer at 
the free lunch counter. No more meander- 
ing about the streets in a cheap top-buggy in 
mock response to calls. No further agonies 
of fear lest remunerative work should never 
come— moments far worse than those in the 
garret-rooms at college, where he had acted 
as janitor, cooked his meals on an oil-stove, 
studied far into the night by a kerosene-lamp, 
and arrayed himself on Saturday evenings m 
such poor state as he could command, to go 
across the river and play a violin in a 
drinking hall for money. 

All this, though m reality not very distant, 
seemed so far away as to be unreal Now, 
instead of an agony of waiting, it was an 
agony of work. One triumph in surgery had 
followed another, until they called him "The 
White Wizard "— " white " because of the 


marble-likepallorof hisface, u wizard" 
because the things he did had never 
been done before by man in that 
part of the world. "Why," said the 
community — and it spoke truly — 
14 he opens men's bodies and takes 
out whatever threatens to kill. He gives 
people new skin, and puts fresh blood in 
their veins. By virtue of his novel skill 
those sweet girl-twins of the rich man — loved 
and pitied of everyone because of their 
beauty and their infirmity — scarcely re- 
member the sad years of their crooked and 
useless legs. It is even claimed that, by 
some magic with the skull, he can banish 
idiocy and insanity, and turn a thief into an 
honest man* Parents throughout the city, 
in the country, and in distant towns, thinking 
of their little ones, ask themselves, with a 
pang of terror, * What should we do if death 
snatched away this white-faced antagonist of 
deformity and disease ? ' " 

And yet, wnth all this chorus of praise — 
this practical deification— most people said 
that l)r, Kregg was a hard man — as hard as 
he was clever. Sometimes his thin lipped 
mouth sputtered oaths as a Gat ling-gun 
sputters -missiles. His face, in addition to 
its whiteness, was memorable for much : the 
sharp definition of the jaws, the nose, and 
the brow-lines ; the steady glow of the grey 
eyes ; the irresistible cast of the whole ex- 
pression. And this face, individual to the 
last degree, was exquisitely true to the spirit 
behind it. Terribly intense was Dr. Kregg, 
terribly determined, terribly difficult to deflect 
or defeat. Well might they call him hard, 
for he was a good deal like a piece of iroii — ■ 

poB, by KchvanJ prltt Bell, 





hammered close and smooth on the anvil of 
poverty and labour and pain. His body was 
the merest detail— dwarfed to nothing by the 
imperious and luminous quality of his mind. 
New Year's Eve, and without a snowstorm, 
thick, a-sparkle, and softly murmurous. 
Dr. Kregg, in full evening dress, walked up 
and down in his warm drawing-room, biting 
at the stump of a cigar. Early in the evening 
he had spoken at a physicians' banquet, 
holding young and old alike in a charmed 
sp*ll by his lucid and metallic eloquence, 
fitter he had hurried to the hospital to carve 

by Google 

potential death out of the frame of a stricken 
man* Tired he was beyond words. His 
eyes were sunken, his cheeks hollow, his face 
preter naturally white. His mind was oscil- 
lating between the scene at the banquet — the 
brilliancy of the lights, the intensity of the 
circling faces — and the poor anesthetized 
mortal on the operating table, with the white- 
clad physicians and nurses clustering about 

" Come in ! M he cried, sharply, at a knock 
on the door. 

" A gentleman to see you, doctor," 

"Who is it, Halls?" 

Original from 




u Richard Shonts, doctor." 

" Dick Shonts, Halls — not Richard ! 
What's he want?" 

" He says his little girl is dying, doctor." 

14 What's the matter with her? He's 
probably lying." 

" Diphtheria, he says, doctor." 

" Eh ? Show him in." 

Through the doorway shambled a red- 
faced man of middle age, clad in a tightly- 
buttoned jacket suit, with a huge woollen 
muffler wound about his neck, and his 
trousers tucked in the tops of his boots. 
There was snow on his boots and clothes, 
and he was shivering from a long ride 
through the cold. His cap was in his hand, 
and his air was one of mingled grief and 
apology. Clearly all was not right between 
this man, a dissolute-looking countryman, 
and Dr. JCregg. 

" What's this you say ? " demanded the 
doctor, with asperity. 

" My little girl, doctor, is dyin* of 
diphtheria," said Shonts, shuffling from one 
foot to the other, and crumpling his cap 
between his big-knuckled hands. 

" And you have the * brass ' to come 
again to me — you loafer and sot ! Have I 
not treated you and your wife and your 
children for years for nothing — not even 
thanks — not even immunity from your 
insolence ? " 

" Drink, doctor — only drink. It sends a 
man crazy." 

" And are you really silly enough to expect 
me to drive twenty miles through this winter 
night to try to save one of your brats ? " 

44 Doctor ! " 

44 Are you such a fool ? Halls ! Show 
this man out ! " 

44 My wife sent to tell you she specially 
begged you to come, because the country 
doctors have given Vertie up." 

44 Halls ! " 

44 This way, please," said Halls, and Shonts 
turned to follow. 

44 Get some doctor with whom you haven't 
played the insolent dead-beat for ten years ! " 
shouted Dr. Kregg after the retreating 

The street door dosed after Shonts, and 
Halls returned to know whether the doctor 
had any further orders for the night. 

i4 Bar that street door and muffle the tele- 
phone," said Dr. Kregg. 44 We're going to 
bed in this house now. Don't disturb me 
until ten in the morning. Do you hear? " 

44 Yes, doctor," and Halls silently with- 

by Google 

Dr. Kregg continued his restless pace to 
and fro, chewing nervously at his cigar, his 
face angry and gloomy. It was near mid- 
night, the time when pandemonium would 
be let loose in the tooting and shrieking of 
whistles, the blowing of horns, and the ring- 
ing of bells, by way of greeting to the New 
Year. Dr. Kregg's look, instead of relaxing, 
grew more contracted, his pace quicker. 
Drawing out his thin gold watch, he glanced 
thoughtfully at its beautiful face. Suddenly 
then, swinging round, he pressed a button. 

44 Yes, doctor ? " said Halls, after a little 

44 Tell the chauffeur to bring the big car to 
the front door at once. Tell him to bundle 
up snugly, and to lose no time. Quick 
now ! " 

Dr. Kregg stepped into the hallway, 
examined the contents of his instrument 
■bag, took some medical and surgical para- 
phernalia from a cabinet and packed them 
in the bag, slipped on wool-lined overshoes, 
wrapped a heavy silk scarf about his neck, 
put on a great fur-lined overcoat, drew a seal- 
skin cap over his head, lit the remnant of his 
cigar, picked up the bag, and stood just inside 
the drawing-room door, waiting. As he stood 
there the storm regathered on his face. 
Gradually the reflection of anger dominated 
that of all other emotions, and out of his 
mouth burst a volley of oaths. He replaced 
the bag in the hall, took off and hung up his 
coat and cap, and was re-entering the drawing- 
room, biting and puffing at his cigar, when the 
manservant appeared. 

44 The car is waiting, doctor." 

44 The deuce it is ! Tell the chauffeur to 
go back to the garage ! Halls, have you 
barred the door and muffled the telephone ? 
I'll be hanged if I leave this house again 
to-night ! " 

All about that lonely grey cottage, on this 
death-night of the old year, fell the feathery, 
muffling snow. Within those narrow con- 
fines there were only two persons who 
really counted — the mother and her eldest 
daughter, Mrs. Shonts and Vertie. These 
were they who kept the wolf from the door, 
and held the lonely home together. The 
other children were too young to be much 
else than a care. Dick, the husband and 
father, sometimes worked a bit in the coal- 
mines, sometimes on one farm or another, 
sometimes in the timber. But after every 
pay day it was the same ignominious story — 
drinking and brawling in the bar-room, and 
staggering home in the small hours of the 
Original from 




morning, to collapse into days of sullen 

Through it all toiled and endured heroically 
Mrs. Shonts and Vertie, each the picture of the 
other, frail and sad and sweet and old-looking. 
In the bygone days, when life was radiant, 
when young Richard Shonts, galloping to see 
her of a Sunday evening on his lustrous-eyed 
dapple-grey, seemed to the girl the very 
romance of gallantry and manhood — in those 
long-vanished days she who was to become 
Mrs. Shonts was celebrated for her beauty. 
To the seeing eye she was beautiful yet — 
strangely, holily beautiful. Her cheeks and 
eyes were hollow, her hands red and not so 
shapely as before, her frocks no longer dainty 
and white, with trimmings of lace and ribbon; 
but through all rough appearances, past all 
obstructions, burst the fineness and the 
sanctity of her character. When she looked 
at one, spoke, she was the living picture of. 
quiet-eyed, kindly, all-enduring patience. 

And in the daughter the mother lived 
again — but so pathetically ! Aged only ten, 
yet Vertie was already a woman. Indeed, no 
one could remember when she was not a 
woman. On the very day of her birth she 
sighed audibly, and seemed distinctly care- 
worn. From the time she could toddle she 
worked. The story of the activities of her 
little feet and hands would have made a big 
and crowded book. She milked, and sewed, 
and washed, and ironed, and cooked. She 
chopped and carried firewood, and fed the 
chickens and pigs, and — occasionally — spent 
a little time at the one-roomed white school- 
house on the hill two miles away. In the 
early and late summer she picked strawberries, 
gooseberries, blackberries, peaches, pears, 
and apples, for jam, for jelly, and for canning 
Hardly a wild thing in the woods but knew 
her quaint, busy little figure ; her thin, quick 
hands, all pricked and berry-stained, her 
curly brown hair, swarthy face, arched lips, 
and sky-blue eyes. 

And now, in mid-winter, this little denizen 
of the hedgerows and the thickets, this 
woman of ten, this prop and stay of a 
toppling home and a broken heart, seemed 
like to die. The old doctor of the thick 
girth and the heavy moustache said there was 
no hope, and it appeared that he was incon- 
testably right. He brought another doctor, 
a still older man, from another village, and 
this man acquiesced in the hopeless view. 
As night was falling on this New Year's Eve, 
Vertie lost the power of further speech with 
her mother, and the latter, rushing to Dick 
in an uncontrollable access of terror, bade 

by Google 

him borrow a swift horse from a neighbour- 
ing farm and ride with all his might to the 
city, to venture a last appeal to Dr. Kregg to 
overlook the past, and to make a final effort 
to save their sore-smitten first-born. 

In the little grey cottage, as the deepening 
snow transfigured the world without, Mrs. 
Shonts bent over her child. The light in 
the room, coming partly from an oil-lamp 
and partly from blazing logs in the yawning 
fireplace, showed the mother and daughter 
in one corner ; the doctor, with folded hands 
and solemn mien, in front of the fire ; a cat 
in a knot on the hearth ; a kettle simmering 
on a crane. On the mantelpiece, and on a 
round table close to the bed, were bottles 
and glasses and spoons. Obviously much 
had been done to arrest the disease — dosing 
and swabbing and cauterizing and ice-pack- 
ing. But all the devices and medicines, like 
the mother's wild, sob-shattered prayers, had 

Mrs. Shonts, for some hours, had hoped 
that Dr. Kregg would come. But now she 
was hopeless. Recalling more clearly, as 
she meditated, the doctor's intense feeling 
against Dick, she grieved that she had not 
kept him at home and gone herself. She 
knew he would fail — of the very warp and 
woof of his life was failure. It was towards 
two in the morning when began the final 
struggle. Breathing had become steadily 
more difficult since midnight. Cradled in a 
crucible, Vertie was not easily daunted, still 
less easily vanquished. The fight she had 
made had been almost superhuman in its 
ever-recurring rallies, its dogged, indomitable, 
pathetic tenacity. But at last the spirit of 
the child was yielding ; the rallies came less 
frequently — they had practically stopped. 

As the hands of the clock pointed to two 
the mother noticed something that sent her 
grief-wrung heart to the lowest depths that 
may be reached in life — the winsome little 
face was growing black. With a shrill, 
unhuman cry she sprang to the doctor's side, 
and caught his lapels in a tigress-like grip. 

" Doctor ! " she screamed, " Vertie cannot 
breathe ! " 

" No, Mrs. Shonts," answered the doctor, 
tenderly, brushing the wild-flung hair back 
from her forehead ; " it is the end." 

" The end ! " 

" Yes, poor woman !— the end." 

" Vertie will die ? " 

" She cannot live." 

" She must not die ! I cannot have her 
die ! Do something, doctor ! Cut that 
obstruction away ! " 

Original from 




'■^ L-£.tWr 


" Poor woman ! J 

She released her hold and fell back, with 
an awful look in her tragedy-haunted face. 

" You will let Vertie die," she said, slowly, 
her voice unrecognisable, her hands clench 
ing and unclenching. u You will not cut — 
not give antitoxin— call it a 'new-fangled 
poison/ " Then, hissingly ; " I could kill you 
for your cowardice and your incompetence ! fl 

" Mrs. Shonts ! ,; exclaimed the doctor, 
rising, his great bulk seeming to fill half the 

Digitized by L*OOQ IC 

(l Do something ! " she reiterated, M Don't 
stand there idle! Do something — or leave 
Vertie and me alone ! n 

Without another word, putting on his hat 
and coat, he went out. She turned back 
and stood above the struggling child. As in 
a clear light she saw Vertie's restless life from 
the cradle to this cruel moment, and with all 
her will, with all her soul, she determined 
that the child should not go alone. She 
loved the smaller children— she pitied, even 
loved, her self-indulgent, weak-willed husband 




— but she could not stay in the world without 
Vertie ; without Vertie she could not support 
her back-breaking load. She would stand 
there, frozen, until the little body quit writh- 
ing; until the sweet, blackened face were 
white again ; until Vertie were free. Then 
she would let go the frail spar to which she 
clung, and drift with the worn-out little berry- 
picker into the limitless unknown. 

All at once, as she stood thus, in Mrs. 
Shonts's ears grew up, expanded, gathered 
tone, a noise not unlike the hum of the big 
saws up the ravine, as they tore their way 
through the thick logs of pine and poplar. 
Then she saw snowflakes careering about the 
room, and felt the icy wind on her cheek. 
Quickly she turned round, and before her, 
piercing and brilliant, shone the unmis- 
takable, unforgettable face of the White. 
Wizard. He had shut the door, set down 
his bag, removed his cap, and was moving 
towards her, throwing off his huge fur-lined 
ulster as he came. He was still in evening 
dress, and it marked acutely the burnished 
steel of his eyes, the marble of his skin, and 
the wire-drawn thinness of his frame. His 
familiar glance, alight with questioning, burnt 
into her dead-cold stare. 

"How's Vertie ?" 

No reply. 

Brushing the stiff figure aside, he caughr 
the dying girl in his arms and lifted her 
sharply erect. 

" Sit in that chair," he cried, " and take 
the child on your lap. Fold her arms and 
hold them tightly." 

Automatically Mrs. Shonts obeyed. 

Tearing open his bag, Dr. Kregg drew out 
an instrument and sterilized it. Then he 
pried apart the tight-shut teeth and intro- 
duced the instrument into the throat. To 
Mrs. Shonts it looked like a silver tube. 
Hope faintly stirred in her heart. The breath 
of the White Wizard was in her face, the firm 
pressure of his body against her arms. She 
could see his tapering fingers deftly plying 
the silver. Slowly, by very gentle stages, it 
slipped down, down. The patient did not 
struggle, could not struggle. At last, the 
tube in the trachea, the child gave a slight 
quiver. Securely the doctor held the 
instrument, and waited. All at once, a 
slight, increasing, swelling inhalation ; then 
a corresponding exhalation. Then another, 
and another, and the White Wizard heaved 
a deep sigh. Mrs. Shonts wanted to look 
at his face, to see what it said, but she 
merely clung to Vertie's hands, and did 
not move. 

Digitized by L^OOgle 

" Now we'll put her back into bed," said 
the doctor, just above a whisper. 

Again on the pillow, Vertie went on 
breathing — not regularly, but breathing. 
Mrs. Shonts tried to catch a glimpse of 
the doctor's face, but it hung too close 
above the child. Finally he stood up, his 
hands at his sides, still gazing down, and 
Mrs. Shonts read into his look a slight ray 
of hope. Then she, too, fixed her eyes on 
Vertie — dotingly, longingly, a tempest of 
emotion beginning once more to shake her 
whole body. 

" Oh, doctor ! " she cried, suddenly, " the 
black is going ! " 

" Yes." 

14 Isn't that a little colour in the lips ? " 

" Yes." 

Loudly the doctor s watch ticked off the 
seconds in his pocket. Then again the 
mother : — 

41 Her eyelids are twitching ! " 

" Yes." 

" They're going to open, doctor ! " 

" I hope so — believe so." 

" She's trying — oh, doctor ! doctor ! Vertie 
is half smiling at me ! " 

Briefly, she stood trembling from head to 
foot, woe and joy battling for the mastery 
of her features, and then, wildly clasping her 
head, fell like a plummet to the floor. As 
he sprang to her assistance, Dr. Kregg saw 
the door pushed timidly open, and Dick, 
pinched and numb from his long ride, tip- 
toed in. 

" Here, Dick ! " cried the doctor, snatching 
a flask of brandy from his bag, "give your 
wife some of this and put her to bed. When 
she is conscious, tell her to go to sleep— that 
I will watch Vertie. Then come back to 

Dr. Kregg returned to the child, feeling 
her pulse, noting her breathing, while Dick 
drew his wife near to the fire, and forced the 
brandy between her livid lips. After he had 
■ carried her away, to lay her beside the babies, 
Dr. Kregg sterilized another instrument, and 
injected a quantity of antitoxin into Vertie's 
tissues. By and by, breathing naturally, the 
child slept. 

The White Wizard took a turn about the 
room, glancing at the bare floor and walls, of 
which he had known more or less ever since 
he began the practice of medicine. Taking 
the lamp from the mantel, he went into the 
kitchen, observing more bareness here — the 
small table, with its cheap red and white 
cloth ; the plain wooden chairs ; the old 
cook stove, warped and broken ; the empty 




'wildly clasping hkh iikau, sue fell i.ikf; a plummet to the floor/ 1 

arder. Returning to the sick room, he 
ihrew more logs on the fire, and watched the 
black smoke and showers of sparks rush up 
the wide chimney. The kettle had boiled 
dry ; he swung it clear of the fire. His eyes 
fell on the cat, knotted tightly close by the 
chimney wall. 

"Even the cat/ 1 he muttered, "is half 

41 I >ick, ?f said the doctor, as the chilled and 
spiritless man re-entered the room, "I have 
given Vertie an injection of antitoxin " 

"Antitoxin, doctor? The village physician 
said it was poison I " 

Vol x**v,-4a 

"Happily, it is," replied Dr. Kregg; "if it 
were not, it would be powerless to antidote 
that other poison which was killing the child. 
We'll let the tube stay where it is for a few 
days, when the diphtheric membrane will 
come away, leaving the air-passage free," 

The White Wizard put on his cap and 

" Dick," he said, reaching into his waist- 
coat pocket, " here is something I wish to 
entrust to you. Go to the village early 
to-day, and buy the nicest New Year's 
present you can find. Give it to Vertie, 
with DrOiSfflgglsfr-SPWPpUnients and love. 




Also get something for the babies, some 
clothes for your wife, and some food for 
that larder. And, Dick," he added, " HI 
be back in a day or two, to see Vertie — 
and you. Meanwhile, a Happy New Year ! " 

"Gad, Halls," said -the chauffeur to the 
butler the next morning, "you should 'a* 
been with Doc and me last night ! " 

" Yes ? " responded Halls, sleepily. " What 
happened ? " 

" We had the lime of our lives ! " 

11 Blamed if 1 don't think we're always 
havin' the time of our lives about this 
bouse. No more jobs in a doctor's service 
for me." 

" Cheer up, old man ! You're gettin' 
cranky. We touched only the high places, 
Halls. Forty miles in the dark over a dirt 
road, with the car snortin' and groanin' like a 
wounded rhinoceros. About half the time, 
I guess, we was in the cornfields. I killed at 
least three dogs, scared a herd o' browsin' 
cows into a river, and knocked an inquisitive 
billygoat through the front window of a cross- 
roads grocery." 

"You idiot!" exclaimed Halls. "Why 
didn't you slow down ? " 

" Slow down ! " retorted the chauffeur, 
doubling up with laughter. . " I did slow 
down — once or twice, only to have Doc poke 
his head out and threaten to pull me off the 
car by the scruff o' the neck." 

Entering the main hall, the butler saw an 
anxious face on the stairway — that of the 
mistress, Dr. Kregg's wife. She had just 
come from the doctor's room, where she had 
found the bed untouched. It seemed to her 
that the big motor-car had been buzzing at 
brief intervals all through the night, and her 
heart ached for her husband. Two or three 

times she had risen and looked put, always 
to find the snow falling thickly and cease- 
lessly from a sullen sky. 

" Where's the doctor, 1 1 alls ? " she cried. 

" Why, madam, I suppose in his room." 

" At what hour did he come in ? " 

" Finally, at daybreak, madam." 

" Was he well ? " 

" I think so, madam— although he acted 
somewhat strangely during the night, order- 
ing the car eut and back twice, after mid- 
night, before at last deciding to go to the 
home of Richard Shonts in the country." 

Without speaking again Mrs. Kregg hurried 
down the steps, noting the muffled telephone 
as she passed. In the drawing-room, enter- 
ing noiselessly, she saw a bulky object on 
the great couch — the doctor, wrapped in his 
ulster, and with the sealskin cap drawn low 
on his brow. In the semi-darkness she 
crept close and listened. Was he breathing ? 
Her heart stood still, and she darted 
nearer, placing her ear almost against his 
lips. It was a peaceful sleep. Two 
hours later she returned, noiselessly, as 
before. The light was better now, and she 
could distinctly see a thin streak of white 
face between close-muffling wings of fun 
The doctor was still asleep, and when his 
wife reappeared in the hall, where the high- 
risen New Year's sun lavished its genial 
splendour, there was a great and peculiar joy 
in her amethyst eyes. She had had a long 
and proud and loving look at him whom 
she had so adored as a fair-haired, roguish, 
ruddy boy— him whom she still worshipped 
as the hard, impatient, imperious, but golden- 
talented and golden-hearted surgeon — and 
not before, in months and months, had she 
seen so happy, so tender an expression on his 
tired and beautiful face. 

by Google 

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Ftoth a Photo, by D. V. J. Ffyueira. .Ifamitom. 




HE aspect erf Mombasa as she 
rises from the sea and clothes 
herself with form and colour 
at the swift approach of the 
ship is alluring , and even 
delicious. But to appreciate 
all these charms the traveller should come 
from the North. He should see the hot 
stones of Malta, baking and glistening on a 
steel blue Mediterranean. He should visit 
the Island of Cyprus before the autumn 
rains have revived the soil, when the 
Messaoria Plain is one broad wilderness of 
dust, when every tree — be it only a thorn 
bush — is an heirloom, and every drop of 
water is a jewel He should walk for two 
hours at midday in the streets of Port Said. 
He should thread the long red furrow of the 
Sue/ (anal, and swelter through the trough 
of the Red Sea. He should pass a day 
among the cinders of Aden, and a week 
among the scorched rocks and stones of 

J @*rift|l |&t by Winston S 

Northern So mail land ; and then, after five 
days of open sea, his eye and mind will be 
prepared to salute with feelings of lively and 
grateful delight these shores of vivid and 
exuberant green. On every side is vegeta- 
tion, moist, tumultuous, and varied. Great 
trees, clad in dense foliage, shrouded in 
creepers, springing from beds of verdure, 
thrust themselves through the undergrowth ; 
palms laced together by flowering trailers ; 
every kind of tropical plant that lives by rain 
and sunshine ; high waving grass, brilliant 
patches of purple bougainvillea, and in the 
midst, dotted about, scarcely keeping their 
heads above the fertile flood of Nature, the 
red roofed houses of the town and port of 

The vessel follows a channel twisting away 
between high bluffs, and finds a secure 
anchorage, land-locked, in forty feet of 
water at a stone's throw from the shore* 
Here we ,-«^ ar»'£^L .at the gate of British 




U w i n t 


JCu *' n *» c 'HstaaEfe. jar" x £ 

*•"*?■' l»iS*n 




Reprodnced by permueion of the Controller of H.M. Stationery Ogee. From the Official Report of the Mombam -Victoria i Uganda) 

Railway Committee. 

East Africa ; and more, at the outlet and 
debouchment of all the trade of all the 
countries that lap the Victoria and Albert 
Lakes and the head -waters of the Nile. 
Along the pier now being built at Kilindini, the 
harbour of Mombasa Island, must flow, at any 
rate for many years, the main stream of East 
and Central African commerce. Whatever 
may be the produce which civilized govern- 
ment and enterprise will draw from the enor- 
mous territories between Southern Abyssinia 
and Lake Tanganyika, between Lake Rudolf 
and Ruwenzori, as far west as the head-streams 
of the Congo, as far north as the Lado 
enclave; whatever may be the needs and 
demands of the numerous populations com- 
prised within those limits, it is along the 
unpretentious jetty of Kilindini that the whole 
traffic must pass. 

For Kilindini (or Mombasa, as I may be 
permitted to call it) is the starting-point of 
one of the most romantic and most wonderful 
railways in the world. The two iron streaks 
of rail that wind away among the hills and 

Digitized by OOOg I C 

foliage of Mombasa Island do not break 
their smooth monotony until, after piercing 
Equatorial forests, stretching across immense 
prairies, and climbing almost to the level of 
the European snow-line, they pause — and 
that only for a time — upon the edges of the 
Great Lake. And thus is made a sure, 
swift road along which the white man and 
all that he brings with him, for good or ill, 
may penetrate into the heart of Africa as 
easily and safely as he may travel from 
London to Vienna. 

Short has been the life, many the vicissi- 
tudes, of the Uganda Railway. The adven- 
turous enterprise of a Liberal Government, 
it was soon exposed, disowned, to the mer- 
ciless criticism of its parents. Adopted as 
a cherished foundling by the Conservative 
party, it almost perished from mismanage- 
ment in their hands. Nearly ten thousand 
pounds a mile were expended upon its con- 
struction ; and so eager were all parties to 
be done with it and its expense that, instead 
of pursuing its proper and natural route 




across the plateau to the deep waters of Port 
Victoria, it fell by the way into the shallow 
gulf of Kavirondo, lucky to get so far. It 
is easy to censure, it is impossible not to 
criticise, the administrative mistakes and 
miscalculations which tarnished and nearly 
marred a brilliant conception. But it is 
still more easy, as one traverses in forty- 
eight hours countries which ten years ago 
would have baffled the toilsome marches 
of many weeks, to underrate the diffi- 
culties in which unavoidable ignorance 
and astonishing conditions plunged the 
pioneers- The British art of ** muddling 
through " is here seen in one of its finest 
expositions. Through everything — through 
the forests, through the ravines, through 

Let us, then, 
longer than is 
to admire the 
coastal region, 
sea to the lake, 
Everything is 

without waiting in Mombasa 
necessary to wish it well and 
fertility and promise of the 
ascend this railway from the 
And first, what a road it is ! 
n apple pie order. The track 

is smoothed and weeded and ballasted as if 
it were the London and North - Western. 
Every telegraph-post has its number; every 
mile, every hundred yards, every change of 
gradient has its mark ; not in soft wood, to 
feed the white ant, but in hard, well-painted 
iron. Constant labour has steadily improved 
the grades and curves of the permanent- way, 
and the train — one of those comfortable, 
practical Indian trains — rolls along as evenly 
as upon a European line. 

From a] THE COW-CATCHER OF THfc EKGINE." [Photoffmtjh. 

troops of marauding lions, through famine, 
through war, through five years of excoriating 
Parliamentary debate, muddled and marched 
the railway ; and here at last, in some more 
or less effective fashion, is it arrived at its 
goal Other nations project Central African 
railways as lightly and as easily as they lay 
down naval programmes; but here is a rail- 
way, like the British Fleet, " in being "'—not a 
paper plan or an airy dream, but an iron fact 
grinding along through the jungle and the 
plain, waking with its whistles the silences of 
the Nyanza, and startling the tribes out of 
their primordial nakedness with "American! " 
piece goods made in Lancashire. 

igiiized byTjiGOgle 

Nor should it be supposed that this high 
standard of maintenance is not warranted by 
the present financial position of the line. 
The Uganda Railway is already doing what 
it was never expected within any reasonable 
period to do. It is paying its way. It is 
beginning to yield a profit— albeit a small 
profit — upon its capital charge. Projected as 
a political railway to reach Uganda, to secure 
British predominance upon the Upper Nile, 
it has already achieved a commercial value. 
Instead of the annual deficits upon working 
expenses which were regularly anticipated 
by those most competent to judge, there is 
already a substantial profit of nearly eighty 




thousand pounds a year. And this is but the 
beginning, and an imperfect beginning ; for 
at present the line is only a trunk, without 
its necessary limbs and feeders, without its 
deep water head at Kilindini, without its full 
tale of steamers on the lake ; above all, 
without its natural and necessary extension 
to the Albert Nyanza. 

We may divide the journey into four main 
stages — the jungles, the plains, the mountains, 
and the lake, for the lake is an essential 
part of the railway, and a natural and in- 
expensive extension to its length. In the 
early morning, then, we start from Mombasa 
Station, taking our places upon an ordinary 
garden seat fastened on to the caw-catcher of 
tlit engine, from which position the whole 
country can be seen. For a quarter of an 
hour we are still upon Mombasa Island, and 

will become shorter every year, are planta- 
tions of rubber, fibre, and cotton, the begin- 
nings of those inexhaustible supplies which 
will one day meet the yet unmeasured 
demand of Kurope for those indispensable 
commodities. Every few miles are little trim 
stations, with their water- tanks, signals, 
ticket offices, and flower- beds complete and 
all of a pattern, backed by impenetrable bush, 
In short, one slender thread of scientific 
civilization, of order, authority, and arrange- 
ment, drawn across the primeval chaos of 
the world. 

In the evening a coaler, crisper air is 
blowing. The humid coast lands, with their 
glories and their fevers, have been left behind. 
At an altitude of four thousand feet we 
begin to laugh at the Equator, The jungle 
becomes forest, not less luxuriant, but dis- 

From a} 


ALJUJtl-.SSfcS I 3 til-: I . F 1% KARNKST TO 


then .the train, crossing the intervening 
channel by a long iron bridge, addresses 
itself in earnest to the continent of Africa. 
Into these vast regions the line winds per- 
severingly upon a stiff up-grade, and the land 
unfolds itself ridge after ridge and valley after 
valley, till soon, with one farewell glance at 
the sea and at the fighting ■ tops of His 
Majesty's ship Venus rising queerly amid the 
palms, we are embraced and engulfed com- 
pletely- All day long the train runs upward 
and westward, through broken and undulating 
ground clad and encumbered with super- 
abundant vegetation- Beautiful birds and 
butterflies fly from tree to tree and flower 
to flower. Deep, ragged gorges, filled by 
streams in flood, open out far below us 
through glades of palms and cr eper covered 
trees- Here and there, at intervals, which 

Digitized by Google 

tinctly different in character. The olive 

replaces the palm. The whole aspect of the 

land is more friendly, more familiar, and no 

less fertile. After Makindu Station the forest 

ceases. The traveller enters upon a region 

of grass, Immense fields of green pasture, 

withered and whitened at this season by 

waiting for the rains, intersected by streams 

and watercourses densely wooded with dark, 

fir looking trees and gorselooking scrub, and 

relieved by bold upstanding bluffs and ridges, 

comprise the new panorama. And here is 

presented the wonderful and unique spectacle 

which the Uganda Railway offers to the 

European. The plains ate crowded with 

wild animals. From the windows of the 

carriage the whole zoological gardens can be 

seen disporting itself. Herds of antelope 

and gazelle, toxins uf. zebras — sometimes 
Original from 




four or five hundred together — watch the 
train [J ass with placid assurance, or scamper 
a hundred yards farther away, and turn 
again. Many are quite close to the line* 
With field glasses one can see that it is the 
same everywhere, and can distinguish long 
files of black wildebeeste and herds of red 
kongoni — the hartebeeste of South Africa — 
and wild ostriches walking sedately in twos 
and threes, and every kind of small deer and 
gazelle. The zebras come close enough for 
their stripes to be admired with the naked 
eye. We have arrived at Simba, "The 
Place of Lions," and there is no reason why 
the passengers should not see one, or even 

fined himself morosely to the river-beds and 
to the undisturbed solitudes whieh 5 at a dis- 
tance of two or three miles, everywhere engulf 
the Uganda Railway, 

Our carriage stopped upon a siding at 
Simba Station for three days, in order that 
we might more closely examine the local 
fauna. One of the best ways of shooting 
game in this part of the world, and certainly 
the easiest, is to get a trolly and run up and 
down the line. The animals are so used to 
the passage of trains and natives along the 
one great highway that they do not, as a rule, 
take much notice, unless the train or trolly 
stops, when their suspicions are at once 


From it photograph, 

half-a-dozen, stalking across the plain, respect- 
fully observed by lesser beasts. Indeed, in 
the early days it was the custom to stop and 
sally out upon the royal vermin whenever 
met with, and many the lion that has been 
carried back to the tender in triumph before 
the guard, or driver, or anyone else could 
think of time-tables or the block system, 
or the other inconvenient restrictions of a 
regular service- Farther up the line, in the 
twilight of the evening, we saw, not a hundred 
yards away, a dozen giraffes lollopping off 
among scattered trees, and at Nakuru six 
yellow lions walked in leisurely mood across 
the rails in broad daylight, Only the rhino- 
ceros is absent, or rarely seen, and after one 
of his species had measured his strength, 
unsuccessfully, against an engine, he has con- 


aroused. The sportsman should, therefore, 
slip off without allowing the vehicle or the 
rest of the party to stop, even for a moment ; 
and in this way he will frequently find himself 
within two hundred and fifty or three hundred 
yards of his quarry, when the result will be 
governed solely by his skill, or want of skill, 
with the rifle. 

There is another method, which we tried 
on the second day in the hopes of finding a 
waterbuck, and that is t to prowl about among 
the trees and undergrowth of the river-bed. 
In a few minutes one may bury oneself in the 
wildest and savagest kind of forest The air 
becomes still and hot. The sun seems in an 
instant to assert his just prerogative. The 
heat glitters over the open spaces of dry sand 
and pools r .^. I water. High grass, huge 



Front aj 


I Fkotnpraph- 

boulders, tangled vegetation, multitudes of 
thorn bushes, obstruct the march, and the 
ground itself is scarped and guttered by the 
rains into the strangest formations. Around 
you, breast high, shoulder high, overhead, 
rises the African jungle. There is a brooding 
silence, broken only by the cry of a bird, or 
the scolding bark of baboons, and the crunch 
ing of one's own feet on the crumbling soil, ' 
We enter the haunt of the wild beasts ; their 
tracks, their traces, the remnants of their 
repasts, an: easily and frequently discovered, 
Here a lion has passed since the morning. 
There a rhinoceros has certainly been within 
the hour —perhaps within ten minuter We 
creep and scramble through the game paths, 
anxiously, rifles at full cock, not knowing 
what each turn or step may reveal. The 
wind, when it blows at all, blows fitfully, now 
from this quarter, now from that ; so that 
one can never be certain that it will not 
betray the intruder in these grim domains to 
the beast he seeks, or to some other, less 
welcome, before he sees him. At length, 
after two hours' scramble and scrape, we 
emerge breathless, as from another world, 
half astonished to find ourselves within a 
quarter of a mile of the railway line, with its 
trolly, luncheon, soda water, ice, etc. 

But if one would seek the rhinoceros in 
his oj>en pastures, it is necessary to go farther 
afield; and accordingly we started the next 

Digitized by dOOgle 

morning, while the stars were still shining, to 
tramp over the ridges and hills which shut in 
the railway, and overlook remoter plains and 
valleys beyond. The grass grows high from 
ground honeycombed with holes and heaped 
with lava boulders, and it was daylight before 
we had Mumbled our way to a spur command- 
ing a wide view. Here we halted to search 
the country with field-glasses, and to brush 
off the ticks— detestable insects which infest 
all the resorts of the game in innumerable 
swarms, ready to spread any poison among 
the farmers' cattle. The glass disclosed 
n ot h i ng of con seq u ence. Zebra, wild ebees te, 
and kongoni were to be seen in troops and 
herds, scattered near and far over the plains, 
but never a rhinoceros I So we trudged on, 
meaning to make a wide circle. For an 
hour we found nothing, and then, just as we 
were thinking of turning homewards before 
the sun should get his full power, three 
beautiful oryx, great, dark coloured antelope 
with very long, corrugated horns, walked 
over the next brow on their way to water. 
Forthwith we set off in pursuit, crouching and 
creeping along the valley, and hoping to 
intercept them at the stream* Two passed 
safely over before we could reach our point. 
The third, seeing us, turned back and dis- 
appeared over the hill, where, a quarter of an 
hour later, he was stalked and wounded. 
It is ulway^hgjWQUHdad beast that leads 




Here the shepherd lad passed many a happy 
hour, carving odd designs and figures in the 
nuts or bits or wood around him, 

A day of trouble came, however, to the 
peaceful household. The milch-cow and the 
sheep must be sold ■ Denys, then a lad of 
twelve, had never wandered beyond the 
limits of his native village. He begged hard 
to be allowed to accompany his father to the 
neighbouring town of Estaing t and the two 
set out together to the fair 

As they descended the high land into 
the smiling valley beyond the lad's heart beat 
high with excitement and pleasure. Th rilled 
with the beauty around he paid small heed 
to his former charges, 
who wandered into for- 
bidden pastures till re- 
called by the tired voice 
of the father. 

At length they 
reached the bridge on 
the outskirts of the 
town, where the little 
Denys was awestruck 
on beholding for the 
first time a man in 
stone, who appeared to 
his childish eyes of 
superhuman beauty. 
The stone face was 
turned towards the lad, 
and seemed to smile 
and call him forward. 
The boy could scarcely 
tear his eyes from the 
figure. Many times 
during the day he stole 
away from fairgrounds 
and sheep to gaze his full 
upon the new marvel. 

Returning home at 
nightfall with his father, 
the lad felt he could 
never more be happy 
till he too had made 
stone men ; and he 
swore to himself that 
he would do so, We 
shall see how he kept 
his word. 

Some days afterwards, when the inhabitants 
had gone to hear " Mass " in the neighbour- 
ing village, and the hamlet was deserted, the 
would-be artist gathered armfuls of coarse, 
damp earth and set to work in such good 
earnest that by the time the villagers returned 
a giant, with arms outspread and threatening 
gesture, stood before them in the roadway. 

Vol, xxxv,-+2. 

From a l'foA<w\*yh. 

The women were paralyzed with fear, 
and the men stood open-mouthed. At 
last the good cure, realizing whose the work 
must be> reassured the frightened crowd, 
and, pointing out the culprit, exclaimed, 
" We shall one dav be proud of our 
village lad ! " 

After the fair at Estaing the two elder 
boys (whose fortunes interlinked for many 
years) worked together on a neighbouring 
farm, saving all they could from their meagre 
wages, till, in a year or two, the elder was 
able to leave Gavernac and enter, as a law- 
student, the seminary at Rodez, 

Denys, who had not forgotten either his 
stone man or his resolu- 
tion, worked early and 
late, till at last he fol- 
lowed his brother to 
Rodez. He was then 
eighteen, but the semin- 
ary could not teach him 
the one thing he craved 
to learn. He must seek 

He wandered round 
the old cathedral pre- 
cincts- The curiously- 
carved saints in their 
niches and the reliefs 
in wood or stone, fixed 
here and there to the 
w eat he r ■ st ai ned pillars, 
were so many precious 
models on which to 
feast his hungry eyes. 

At length he came 
upon an old stone- 
cutter who undertook 
orders from time to 
time for the neighbour- 
ing churches. The 
good man, struck by 
the frank simplicity of 
the lad, acceded to 
his earnest prayer, and 
accepted the few little 
wooden figures (carved 
in earlier shepherd days 
in the shade of the old 
chestnuts) in payment 
of lessons, and promised a few francs daily 
when orders should be plenty. So the lad 
spent many happy days with old Mahoux, 

At length an order, more important than 
usual, came from the village of Cahors. As 
it would require many months to complete 
it, the old man sent his apprentice to do the 
work, h was not without a pang that Denys 





bacjjf farewell to his old friend and the work- 
shop in the shade of his beloved cathedral, 
Soon after his arrival at Cahors news came 
from his brother, who had successfully passed 
his examination and was now a law-student 
in Paris. 

"Come," he wrote to Denys ; "though I 
have but an attic and a bed they are enough 
for two ! " Denys, however, had started on 
his work and was not to be tempted thus. 
Nor was it till the task was completed 
that he set out for die city of his desire. 
Paris, that cradle of modern art, claimed him 
for her own ! Thus the brothers were united 
once more, 

Louis spent his days at the law school, 
while Denys worked from seven till twelve 
for an omamentist at two francs per day. 
His afternoons were spent at one or other 
of the free 
classes, where 
drawing and 
modelling are 
often admirably 
taught. The 
brothers met 
every night in 
the library of 
Sa inte-Gene- 
vieve, where the 
one could read 
law books, 
beyond his 
means of pur- 
chase, while the 
other devoured 
all he could find 
which might in 
any way develop 
his knowledge 
of art. 

At ten the 
gates were 
closed, and the 
brothers wended 
their way to the 
heights of Belle- 
ville, there to share their modest room 
earl)' morning. 

After working some years in the free 
schools Denys became the pupil of Jouffroy, 
then of Chapu, and finally of Falquiere. 
The "service militaire," however, soon 
separated the brothers, but our student con- 
tinued to work, snatching time between his 
"exercices de tir' ? to prepare the compo- 
sition which won for him the " Grand Prix 
de Rome/' 

It was during one of the short holidays 

gitized by GoOgk 

Frvtn a Phoivffrvph by permiutQH of thr A rtitt. 


accorded him while a student at the Villa 
Medicis that he first visited London, and, 
although Paris had charmed him by its 
grace and beauty, London left an indelible 
souvenir upon his mind. He thus describes 
his first impressions* On arriving m the 
mighty city he exclaimed: "Quel senti- 
ment de grandeur, d'immensit<5 f on eprouve 
ici ; quelle puissance merveilleuse ; e'est, 
en v^rit£, le pools de l'univers/ 1 ' And the 
student from Rome, with its treasures 
of the Vatican ; from Florence, with its 
Santa Croce, was so struck on entering the 
Abbey at Westminster that the cry burst 
from him una wo res, * 4 1 have found it at last ' 
This is indeed the Sanctuary of Beauty ; the 
Necropole where the student may follow the 
history of centuries of Art ; the Temple 
Venerable, indeed, where the soul must 

realize the 
absolute unity 
of all things and 
the power of a 
1 Love Divine." 
The Elgin 
Marbles, the 
National Gal- 
lery, and, finally, 
Burl ington 
House, with its 
yearly exhibi- 
tion, engrossed 
his attention. 
The National 
Gallery he could 
never tire of; 
and it was the 
English School 
of Painting, as 
there, which 
charmed him 
most. Not so, 
however, at Bur- 
lington House. 

" Reynolds, 
Romney, Hogarth, Turner, Constable — these 
men," said Puech, " were painters- They drew 
in co lour. Your English artist of to day is a 
marvellous draughtsman ; but he has not 
the courage, xW^fen sacri^ of his predecessors. 
He seems to me to have made an over- 
conscientious, skilful drawing, perfect in the 
very smallest detail, and then to have cleverly 
coloured it, One day he will go back to 
the glorious freedom of the earlier school, 
which has so largely inspired modern art in 
ranee. Original from 




Frtfm a I'feduffp-EJjAj 


[6jr j*ru4i*t iuh u/ ike ArtUL 

l( La Sirfene," the result of Fuech's second 
year in Rome, has been universally 

Soon after this his mind seems to have 
undergone a change, leaving the classic 
and symbolic, he braved all the traditions of 
that academic school whose offspring never- 
theless he was. Seduced by the memory of 
Paris, where he had suffered and conquered 
so much already, he produced the lovely 
figure of "La Seine/' his third " Envoie de 
Rome/' This, with his masterpiece M St. 
Antony of Padua" (here reproduced), com 
pleted his studies at the Villa Medicis. 

On his return to Paris the former student 
found himself welcomed as a master. He is 
the first " Prix de Rome" who has had four 
of his studies bought by the State, Puech is 

Digitized by W 

justly regarded by his countrymen as their 
greatest sculptor. 

One day, while President Loubet was 
sitting for his portrait, he drew some photo- 
graphs from his pocket and handed them to 
Puech, saying, '* The Czar will soon be here. 
I must have a present ready to offer him. I 
can think of nothing original worthy of the 
august visitor which can be done at such 
short notice. Can you not make a portrait 
from these photographs without seeing the 
original ? " 

Puech promised, and the bust was duly 
presented to Nicholas II. Both the Czar 
and Czanna were delighted with the pleasant 
surprise the President had prepared for them* 
At their request the bust (of which a photo- 
graph is next reproduced) was immediately 





forwarded to the Winter Palace, where, 
amongst numerous other portraits, it occupies 
the place of honour* The artist received the 
cross of " Commander of the Order of St. 
Stanislas" as a token of appreciation from 
his Imperial niodeL 

The monument for the tomb of Chaplin — 
k pantre dt la femme i and decorator of the 
former palace of the Tuileries — is one of the 
most pleasing of its kind> and was a worthy 
tribute to the memory of a faithful friend. 

It would be impossible in this short space 
to mention all the groups, monuments, and 
portraits which have sprung from the fertile 
brain and gifted hand of Denys Puech, 
There is one, however, which must be men- 
tioned, as it is a work to excite universal 
comment. It is a monument presented to 
the Prince of Monaco by the crowned heads 
of Europe collectively, Its position is in 
front of the museum, where the Prince has 
placed the numerous treasures brought with 
him from his scientific expeditions. The 
Emperor William promised his subscription on 
the understanding that his name should head 
the list of subscribers to be engraved on the 

Digitized by Google 

pedestal. The Prince is represented 
on the deck of his yacht in thought- 
ful attitude ; his eyes are fixed en 
the blue at his feet — he fain would 
tear their secrets from the depths 
below. The pedestal is ornamented 
by reliefs— rare shells and curious 
deep-sea creatures dear to the heart 
of the princely explorer, 

Denys Puech was three times 
candidate for promotion to the Aca- 
demy. The first time he received 
but six votes, and eighteen the 
second time. The third time he was 
elected with a majority of nineteen. 
But neither admiration, flattery, 
financial success, nor his nomina- 
tion as " Membre de 1'Institut de 
France M —the highest honour his 
country can bestow on her illus- 
trious sons — has changed him 
much. We recognise the shepherd 
lad of earlier days in the simple, 
courteous gentleman who is also 
a great artist 

A *rri'nv OV A CHILI'S HEAD* 
JfrfCTi ft Vh$* jjtityh by jurrnwjtoji vf the ArtUL 


The Colonel's Gem Collection. 


I ATE one afternoon Colonel 
Danvers, of Thierthally, 
Mysore, sat in his veranda 
awaiting more or less patiently 
the arrival of his nephew, Bob 
Iverson, to dinner. JJob was 
a lieutenant in the — M.N. I., anjl it hap- 
pened that his company had come *nto camp 
at Thierthally. The year was 187$ and the 
day was hot and close. 

Colonel Danvers was one of the deputy- 
commissioners who, last century, were 
appointed to administer the affairs of 
Mysore during the minority of the Rajah. 
The head -quarters .of his court was at 
Thierthally, and there he had built his 

Round about the veranda was a low parapet 
wall ; the Colonel, from his seat in a shady 
corner, looked across the compound towards 
a group of handsome, hepvy- shadowed 
tamarind trees. The fragrance of champaka 
flowers filled the air, and the silence was only 
broken by the shrill " tret-tret " of a beautiful 
white-tailed bird which flew uneasily in and 
out of a pepper-vine. The vine twined about 
a betel-nut tree that lifted its crest close to 
the tamarinds. 

The uneasy flight of the bird puzzled the 
Colonel, and, watching narrowly for a cause, 
he became aware that the heavy shadows 
under the tamarinds suffered a slight modifi- 
cation, such as might be occasioned by 
stealthy movements within them. Then 
came a gleam of something white, and 
almost immediately a dark-skinned native 
passed from them into the open, near the 
betel-nut tree. He wore a turban and a loin- 
cloth, and had a small leathern wallet slung 
over his shoulder by a strap. To the 
Colonel's surprise, he advanced straight to- 
wards the veranda, pausing some six feet 
from the wall to salaam silently. 

"What's your business here?" asked the 

The man made no reply, but, looking 
steadily at him, slipped his hand into the 
wallet and advanced nearer the parapet. 

" What do you want ? " cried the Colonel 
in the Kanarese dialect. 

" Nothing, O sahib ! " 

o 1 

by Google 

And as in illustration of his words he 
drew from his wallet a handful of silver coins 
of the heavier kind. 

" Now, what the deuce does this mean ? " 
muttered the Colonel. 

The native, with imperturbable indolent 
dignity, laid his coins in a row upon the 
wall, fastened his eyes briefly but piercingly 
upon the Colonel, raised his hand, and began 
to make passes in the air. Then the Colonel 
became aware of a most stupefying and 
unprecedented fact. As the man continued 
his passes the coins visibly stirred ; then 
they rose and stood upon their edges and 
began to spin, slowly at first, by degrees with 
rapidity, and at last fell back to their places 
with a silvery clash. Whereupon the owner 
clapped his hands and extended them, and 
the coins flew through the air and returned, 
with a hustling jingle, into his open palms. 
With a gleam of triumph in his eye he 
glanced at the Colonel, quietly replaced the 
coins in his wallet, and turned on his heel. 

" Stop ! " cried the Colonel. 

The man paused without approaching. 

" Come back ! I want you to do that 
again. I will pay you to do that again." 

The man faintly smiled, shook his head, 
and, at a run, sought the shade of the tamarind 
trees, where he disappeared. 

The Colonel had witnessed many strange 
phenomena in India, and had found them 
inexplicable, but never had he been so far 
from a satisfactory explanation as at present. 
Had the whole thing been an illusion pro- 
duced by a mesmeric influence of which he 
was unconscious? Or was it merely an ex- 
traordinarily clever use of a concealed 
magnet by an expert conjurer? Above all, 
why should the man have risked his intrusion 
into the compound to exhibit his skill 
unpaid ? 

His reflections were broken by the clank 
of a spurred foot on the veranda and the 
voice of his nephew. 

" I am sorry to be late," said the young 
lieutenant ; " I've been detained in camp by 
a case of cholera." 

"Ah!" said the Colonel, rising; "that 
means you are fast here in cantonment for 
weeks, if not for .months." 


3 lg 


* £ I suppose it 
does," said Bob, 

He spoke 
gloomily, fur his 
aim was Bangalore 
— cheerful, gay 
Bangalore ! To be 
trapped in dull 
T h i e r t h a 1 1 y 
seemed the very 
malice of fate, 

11 Come in, my 
boy," said the 
Colonel, kindly. 
"At least I can 
give you a good 

During dinner 
came the hour of 
sunset , and a blaze 
of glory gathered 
over the land- 
scape ; as an a|>- 
propriate frame 
and foreground 
to the picture 
were the creeper- 
hung veranda and 
the figure of a 
white-coated peon, 
who had slid to a 
corner there to be 
in readiness if 

"Your pro- 
longed stay here 
would have been 
a godsend to my 
lonely life/' said 
the Colonel, when 
dessert was on the 
table and, save for 
the peon, they 
were alone. "But, 
unfortunately, I go on Jurnmabundy* shortly/' 

'* That's bad luck," said the young man, 

" The most I can do is to offer you 
my bungalow and my servants during my 

Bob thanked him heartily and dropped 
into silence. Inwardly he was questioning 
whether it would be permissible in an 
impecunious lieutenant, and one, moreover, 
in debt, to write to the loveliest girl in 
Bangalore and acquaint her with the disaster 
to the — M.N.I, at Thierlhally. He regretted 

* Taking a cwm un circuit. 

1 as the. man continued his rAsshs TUB coir^s visihly stikhku." 

his debts. They were a heavy weight upon 
his mind. Raising his eyes wearily he missed 
the figure of the peon. 

" The peon's gone ! " he exclaimed, 

u He had no business to leave until dessert 
is over. Clap your hands. Bob." 

Bob clapped as he was ordered, but 
clapped in vain. Some fifteen minutes 
passed without response; then Appao, the 
butler, appeared on the veranda at the open 
windows and salaamed, 

"Where has that rascally peon gone, 
Appao ? " asked the Colonel, as he and Bob 
stepped out o^^^^ogether. 


I circuit* 

by Google 


3 J 9 

Appao spread his hands and became 
voluble in explanation. It appeared that 
the godowns (servants' quarters) were in ex- 
citement, owing to the unprecedented arrival 
of a yellow-cloaked traveller, who was enter- 
taining them with stories of the far country 
whence he came. 

" There's no objection to the servants 
listening to the tales of the holy man," said 
the Colonel ; " but the peon should have 
waited until his duties were over. Where 
does the traveller hail from ? " 

"The yellow cloaked one say he come from 
very far, sahib — even from Trichinopoly, , ' 
said Appao. And in his solemn eye lurked 
the hint of a sly twinkle. 

" He calls that a far country, does he ? " 
laughed the Colonel ; and he waved his hand 
in dismissal. But Appao did not move. 

"The sacred yellow cloak is a disguise, 
O sahib. This man no traveller/' 

" Ah ! " said the Colonel, quickly. 

" No traveller/' repeated Appao ; " I saw 
him with the pack-bullocks and the betel- 
nut drovers on the hills. O sahib, he a 

The face of the Colonel became grave. 
It is a peculiarity of the wandering tribe of 
the Korchars that, by long-inherited custom, 
they bind themselves to thieving as a by- 
occupation, adding this nefarious pursuit to 
more honest callings ; and in the practice, 
prolonged through generations, they have 
acquired inconceivable dexterity. Of all this 
the Colonel was not ignorant ; moreover, it 
happened that, for various reasons, the man's 
connection with the betel nut drovers struck 
him unpleasantly. 

"See him off the premises at once ! " said 
he, sharply. 

The butler shook his head. 

" No good, sahib ; let not Appao drive the 
thieving Korchar away. Give Appao leave, 
O sahib, to take him into the dwelling as a 

Bob removed the cigarette from his lips 
and grinned. The Colonel stroked his 
moustache and mused. Appao waited in 
dignity, his arms crossed upon his shoulders. 

" Why should I do that, Appao ? " 

" If the Korchar eat salt in the house of 
the sahib, he protect the goods of the sahib. 
But if the sahib drive him away, he lick the 
walls of the house bare as the plate of a 
hungry dog." 

" Then take him on as an under-gardener," 
said the Colonel. 

And the butler, well pleased, salaamed and 

" Uncle," said Bob, "are you mad ? " 

" No," said the Colonel, slowly ; " it is 
possible that what Appao says is true, and 
that my only chance lies in taking into my 
service a man whom I suspect to be an 
emissary sent to rob me." 

" &/// ? " 

" Have you never heard that I am a gem- 
collector ? " 

" There's a rumour going round that you 

" Well, a few days ago I purchased from 
a wealthy merchant of Gubbi in Toomgoor, 
interested in the betel-nut trade, this stone." 

He drew from his pocket a small packet, 
opened it, and laid the gem in his nephew's 

" Gemini ! " cried Bob. " What a ruby ! 
It fairly burns and spits fire. I expect you 
gave a fortune for it, sir ? " 

" I gave what would be a fortune to many 
a rogue in debt," said the Colonel, smiling. 

Bob coloured and glanced at his uncle with 
a startled air. 

" I shall be sorry to leave any unusual 
responsibility on your shoulders when I go 
away," continued the Colonel, " but will you 
undertake something for me ? " 

"Of course," said Bob; "anything you like 
and that I can do for you." 

" It relates to that merchant of Toomgoor. 
I think he wants his stone back as well as 
keeping the price. Perhaps he would like 
other gems besides." 

" You don't mean that you house the gems 

"That's where the trouble comes in. 
I do ; and I shall have to leave them in your 
charge. Come ! Light the lamps for me in 
the dining-room, and I will show you." 

In the dining-room was a recess in which 
stood a cabinet of inlaid wood ; it was on 
castors, and the Colonel wheeled it easily 
aside. In the wall behind were two small 
iron doors, which on being unlocked showed 
a steel panel whose spring acted upon 
receiving a certain nurr.ber of deft touches, 
each one lighting in a particular spot in a 
particular rotation. The fingers of the 
Colonel went through the operation with 
lightning-like rapidity, and the panel slid 
back, displaying the velvet-lined shelves with 
their treasure. He laid the ruby amongst 
the other gems, closed the panel and the 
iron doors, and replaced the cabinet. His 
actions throughout were marked by a certain 

" I didn't see how you manipulated the 
spring of Che paricflpo Reclaimed Bob. 




" It takes time to learn," returned the 
Colonel, smiling, " and I don't care to linger 
over the affair. I wanted to put the gem in 
safety while I am certain that no one is 

As he spoke he remembered his conjuring 
visitor of the early evening, and stepped out 
on the veranda to make sure that he was not 
lurking near. Night had fallen, and there was 
no moon ; but the lights from the windows 
streamed into the compound, and he satisfied 
himself that no one was at hand. 

The next morning when walking early in 
the compound he encountered there a small, 
lithe man at work ; he was thin to emaciation, 
and the Colonel surmised in him one of the 
sufferers from the drought, followed by famine, 
which had afflicted Mysore in the years 
between 1875 and 1877, and from which 
disaster the district was only now beginning to 

" Hast thou eaten food this morning ? " 
asked the Colonel, kindly. 

At this the man turned with a hoarse 
exclamation and, prostrating himself at the 
feet of the old soldier, muttered unintelligible 
sentences in Kanarese. Then the Colonel, 
not without some inward amusement at his 
own predicament, remembered the thieving 
Korchar who had entered his service on the 
previous evening. 

" Appao has taken thee into my service, as 
I know," said he. " Do thy duty ; be true to 
thy master." 

Two or three days later he set off with his 
court on circuit. 

The circuit was an unusually busy and 
harassing one ; drought and famine had left 
behind, not only disease and suffering, but a 
plentiful crop of petty attempts at extortion. 
In the mass of business the Colonel forgot 
the incidents immediately preceding his 
departure. But presently they were brought 
to mind by a singular personal affliction, 
which added to the exhaustion entailed by a 
pressure of affairs. He began to suffer from 
depression, waking morning by morning in a 
spirit of heavy foreboding, and in time found 
that this distressing mental cloud was attached 
to a recurring dream. It was some time 
before he could summon to his waking hours 
any clear presentment of the vision that 
harassed him by night ; but at last, on a 
sudden and with a great mental shock, he 
had the picture clear. He saw the wooden 
cabinet in the recess of his dining-room at 
Thierthally, and before it the figure of Bob 
in an attitude of absorbed reflection. Was 
this perturbing and recurring phantasy a trick 

by K: 



of an over-fatigued brain ; or was it a warn- 
ing of disaster — of some trouble connected 
with his nephew and the gems ? The dream 
persisted and robbed him of peace. 

Finally he determined to hurry on his 
work and, leaving the minor cases to a 
subordinate, to return unannounced to Thier- 

A few days later he rode into the town an 
hour before sunset, and dismounting gave the 
horse to his syce, with directions to place it 
in the public stables for the night ; and walk- 
ing to the bungalow came unnoticed to the 
front. The day had been sultry and the 
cuscus mats hung over the windows — over all 
the windows save one ; the French windows 
of the dining-room stood wide open, and one 
half had been left uncovered. No one was 
within; on looking into his bedroom he saw 
no one there, and, passing on to the office, 
found that also deserted. The absence of 
the servants did not surprise him, for at this 
hour they were usually in their quarters. But 
if Bob was not dining at the bungalow, why 
had he left the place open and unguarded ? 

The office was gratefully cool and dark in 
the shade of the cuscus-tattys, whereas over 
the dining-room floor fell a broad streak of 
light from the uncovered window. He 
remained, therefore, in the office, and, 
drawing a lounge chair near the open door, 
so as to command a view of the dining-room, 
sat down to await events, but shortly fell 
into a deep slumber, from which he wakened 
to find that the night had come, and that the 
streak of light had changed to the strong 
glare from a full moon. And still the place 
was deserted. 

This circumstance renewed his uneasiness, 
and convinced him that mischief was afloat. 

In India the peculiar brilliancy of the 
moonlight is accompanied by shadows of 
contrasting depth ; the spot where he sat was 
heavy with them, so was the near corner of 
the dining-room between the outer wall and 
the door of the office. Into this corner he 
stepped and there seated himself, slipping 
his hand into his pocket as he did so, to 
make sure of his revolver. From his position 
he had command of every part of the room, 
including the bedroom door which stood ajar ; 
by turning his head slightly he could have 
seen the office door out of which he had 
come, had not that part lain in impenetrable 
shadow. He knew not what he waited for, 
but sat on in indomitable patience, finding 
for some time no change — save, indeed, that 
the strip of moonlight moved nearer the 

Original from 




At last came that thrill which Is apt to 
seize the nerves of anyone standing on the 
brink of an unusual event. He had heard 
nothing — not the slightest rustle of a sound 
— but became aware of a diminution of the 
light, and perceived that through the un- 
covered window a shadow was cast upon the 
floor, having the shape of a t urban ed head 
and the bare arms and shoulders of a man ; 
it moved over the threshold and into the 
room slowly, and then paused. There was 
no more than the head and shoulders, so 

Vol. MJtV.— #3- 


that he knew the body casting the shadow 
stood a little distance back- Then he saw 
that the arms rose and that the hands moved 
rhythmically, making regular passes in the 
air. There was no sound ; but so weird and 
stealthy was the effect of the shadowy, snatch- 
ing fingers, marking their mysterious move- 
ments on the moonlit floor, that he felt his 
heart grow cold and his breath almost stop. 
So far, not for an instant had he thought of 
the conjurer; now he remembered him. It 
was more than probable that with him he 

had to do. 

But for what 
purpose was he 
here ? He could 
form no faint idea 
of his aim, and 
therefore waited 
on the event, until 
a slight sound 
came which 
brought him the 
first indication of 
what his seasoned 
courage might 

The sound came 
from the recess, 
and he perceived 
— or was it an 
illusion of the 
sight? — that the 
cabinet was mov- 
ing on its castors, 
not lightly as he 
himself had been 
wont to move it, 
but slowly and, 
as it were, unwill- 
ingly. Presently 
he was sure of the 
fact, for he found 
that the iron doors 
became gradually 
visible behind. 
Could it be that 
the gems were the 
conjurer's object? 
From some un- 
known source he 
had received 
knowledge of 
them ? If that were 
so, his former visit 
was explained as 
a forced oppor- 
tunity for recon- 


Original from 



The Colonel's nerve was steady enough ; 
he even felt a profound interest, and deter- 
mined that — in so far as he could permit it 
without danger — the man should play his 
game unhindered. Hardly had he formed this 
resolve when the cabinet, whose progress 
had been of the slowest, gave a quick run 
forwards and stopped dead. The iron doors 
were now completely revealed ; also more of 
the shadow was thrown over the floor. 

But had there been some other sound in 
the room ? A breath, a stir of life, so far 
unperceived ? With an almost unconscious 
impulse the Colonel's glance leapt to the 
bedroom door, which stood open some ten 
inches, and, settling there with a snap of the 
eyelids at the unwelcome surprise, perceived, 
through the aperture, a black face whose 
eyes glared like a sulky tiger's. 

He stole his hand to his hip pocket. 
There was an accomplice, and he was in a 
tighter fix than he had dreamed. Well, he 
had been in many an awkward corner before 
this, and had brought himself safely from it. 
But the intricacy of the matter was some- 
what heightened, the question no longer 
being simply when he should interfere, but 
rather — if firing became necessary— in which 
direction he should aim his revolver first. 

He was debating this nice point when from 
the recess came a fresh sound — very small, 
very strange. It resembled the turning of 
the lock in the iron doors under the key. 
Yet no more than the shadow of the con- 
jurer's hands was upon the safe, moving 
there quiveringly, rapidly, with a shocking 
suggestion of greed. It could hardly be a 
surprise, and yet it was in a kind of spell- 
bound stupor that he heard the lock 
reluctantly yielding ; it slid back with a 
creaking, grinding noise, and the iron doors 
moved forward on their hinges. Nothing 
now save the steel panel and its ingenious 
spring lay between the conjurer and the 
gems. The Colonel glanced towards the 
bedroom to see what accompanying change 
he might find there. He discovered that 
the expression of the black face had intensi- 
fied to savagery, that a bare foot was planted 
forward in the moonlight, while in the 
uplifted hand a knife glittered. At the 
same moment the glaring eyeballs, roving 
over the room, seemed to rest upon and 
scoop out the secret of his own dark corner. 
At once the Colonel came to his decision, 
and, easing his arm, he brought his revolver 
into aim upon him. 

Then it was that the unexpected, the totally 
unexpected, occurred. As an officer of the 

by Google 

British Army and an official of Her Majesty's 
Government, the Colonel found time to 
reproach himself that in his mental equipment 
a serious flaw should be discovered. He had 
forgotten, clean forgotten, the office door ! 
He was reminded of it with a jolt. For as 
he raised his revolver it was dexterously 
twisted from his fingers by the hand of 
another, while his throat was caught in the 
vice-like grip of a hooked elbow, and before 
he could emit a gasp of astonishment a hand 
upon his mouth prevented him. 

The Colonel knew when he was defeated. 
The plot to rob him of his gems was more 
extensive and better engineered than he had 
thought ; as, obviously, his life was not 
worth a moment's purchase. He remained 
absolutely quiet, even making shift to notice 
that almost the whole of the conjurer's 
shadow was now in the room ; and with that 
found place for a hope that the hooked 
elbow would fall short of throttling him until 
he had time to test the perfection of his 
complicated spring. The spring was his own 
invention, and, since mind was here measured 
against mind, it was a point to his pride that 
the uncanny powers should prove powerless 
against it. 

His hope, however, was short-lived. The 
faintest rustle close at hand admonished 
him of some new movement on the part of 
his assailant, and a hot breath came upon 
his cheek. Ah ! where was Bob ? He 
closed his eyes in expectation of some swift 
death, then as suddenly opened them again. 
The pressure on his throat had relaxed, and 
he became aware of an almost voiceless 
whisper in his ear. 

" Don't shoot ; keep still." 

The revolver was pushed back to his 
fingers and the hooked elbow withdrawn. 
In the immensity of his relief he felt more 
stunned than he had been by the terror. 
For the whispering voice was Bob's. 

By now the conjurer himself had appeared 
upon the threshold. His eyes were fixed, 
his aspect was as one undergoing excessive 
and prolonged effort, and almost lost to con- 
sciousness of a world outside himself. He 
paced slowly into the room, the control of 
his steps being in contrast to his hand move- 
ments, which seemed, in shadow, to pluck 
and grip at the steel. In the bedroom the 
attitude of the accomplice had not altered ; 
obviously he had not detected the presence 
of the watchers in the corner. But would 
the spring yield or would it hold? The 
Colonel asked the question in an incredible 
glow of interest, but was destined never to 

Original from 



receive a reply. For at the very height of 
the excitement, when th<* movements of the 
handa had reached a point resembling frenzy , 
the man in the bedroom leapt from his con- 
cealment, and by the sheer impetus of his 
assault brought the conjurer to the ground. 
At the moment Bob jerked the euscus-tatty 
from the near window, flooding the room 
with moonlight, and on the floor the two 
natives were plainly visible, rolling together, 
struggling, snarling, and gasping like wild 


animals. Presently it was clear that he of 
the bedroom got the better in the fight \ at 
last he so far freed himself as to be able to 
raise his knife for a blow, But there Bob 

" Halt, there ! " he cried. 
Not too willingly the victor rose and 
stood aside, while the Colonel hauled the 
exhausted conjurer to a chair and kept 
him prisoner while he with great minuteness 
examined his gaunt, dark features. 

"Ah!" he ex- 
claimed, when his 
scrutiny was over, 
11 once you visited 
me as a merchant 
ofGubbi in Toom- 
koor, A second 
time you had 
thrown off that dis- 
guise and came as 
a conjurer to ex- 
hibit your skill. 
Now I see you in 
your true charac- 
ter as a thief I 
shali not forget 
your features." 

At these words 
the native, whose 
exhaustion was not 
so great as he 
feigned, gave a 
sudden upward 
spring, and, when 
the Colonel would 
have seized him 
again, slipped like 
an eel from his 
hands and fled into 
the night. 

" Let him go ! " 
cried the Colonel, 
as Bob ran for- 
ward. " Even if 
you caught him 
you could not take 
him, for the man 
is oiled." 

He turned to- 
wards the second 
native, who stood 
patiently waiting 
liis notice. When 
the eyes of the 
Colonel fell on 
him, the man in- 
stantly prostrated 
himself on the 



ANIMALS." j-i f 

Original from 




ground and murmured broken sentences in 
Kanarese. At that the Colonel's memory 
stirred, and a sudden light broke upon him. 

" The Korchar ! " he exclaimed. 

" The sahib's gardener, O protector of the 
wretched ! " corrected the man, anxiously. 
" The sahib say, ' Do thy duty. Be true to 
thy master.' I eat the sahib's salt. I true 
to my salt. I watch, and I see thief about 
He man of the Lambadi tribe; he great thief. 
He steal a man's teeth from his mouth. I 
watch him as I garden; he not know I watch. 
At night he hide in the tamarinds and come 
near and make his magic. He has devil 
inside. I watch to-night, for the moon at full 
and I know he come. I find the young 
sahib gone and the windows open. I lift the 
cuscus-tatty and creep to the bedroom on my 
hands and knees and hide, before he drop 
from the tree." 

The Korchar's story was corroborated by 
Bob over a late supper. Early in the 
Colonel's absence the young lieutenant had 
become persuaded that a plot to rob his 
uncle was at work ; for returning one day 
unexpectedly from camp he noticed that the 
cabinet was displaced from its right position. 
This displacement of the cabinet occurred 
more than once, and his suspicions fastened 
on the Korchar, whose persistency in garden- 
ing towards sunset in the front had puzzled 
and annoyed him. But in time he altered 
his surmise. One night he caught sight of 
someone lurking near the veranda ; then the 
Korchar, like a noiseless shadow, glided from 
a concealed corner and the would-be thief 
fled. The Korchar, then, was also on the 
watch ? By degrees he became convinced of 
the man's fidelity, and presently found a kind 
of sporting interest in his game. 

" But, apart from this interest," continued 
Bob, "I had an anxiety of my own. How 
could I tell whether the gems were safe on 
the shelves or not ? The thief might remove 
them and leave no trace. I had heard of the 
neatness and finish of Indian thieves in this 
respect. It was only the continued watchful- 
ness of the Korchar which allowed me to 
hope I was still guarding a treasure and not 

the empty shelves. I regretted that I did 
not know the use of the spring. Many a 
time have I stood before the cabinet in great 
anxiety, trying to reproduce in memory some 
vision of your manipulation of it, but in 
vain. The gems might be there or they 
might not ; I could not tell. And then 
some fresh assiduity on the Korchar's part 
would reassure me for a day or two. At last 
the matter got on my nerves, and I resolved 
to arrange a trap by which, if possible, to 
resolve my doubt. I had remarked that the 
appearance of the stealthy figure was more 
frequent when the moon was full, so I 
planned my trap for this evening. First I 
managed to rid myself of the solicitous atten- 
tions of your excellent Appao and the rest, 
then I openly departed from the bungalow, 
leaving the windows as you found them. 
Afterwards I secretly returned and climbed 
up the veranda and hid there. Presently I 
ascertained that the Korchar was at hand. 
I did not see him enter. Before the moon 
rose I dropped down and got into the office. 
Here, to my amazement, I found you sleep- 
ing. That bothered my plans a little, but I 
decided to let things take their course and to 
act as events might direct. I followed you 
when you stepped into the dining-room ; but 
only when you aimed your revolver at the 
faithful Korchar did I think it necessary to 
act at all." 

" Ah, my boy," cried the Colonel, ruefully, 
" it was then I got my bad five minutes ! " 

A few days later the — M.N.I, marched 
on to Bangalore. Some little time afterwards 
Lieutenant Iverson sailed from India on 
leave, wearing about his person a belt in 
which were sewn his uncle's priceless gems ; 
these he brought with him for safe deposit in 
an English bank. Also next his heart he 
carried a letter from the prettiest girl in 
Bangalore, while in his mind he had the 
cheering knowledge that his debts were paid 
and his future secured by his good uncle. 

As for the Korchar, he was promoted to 
the post of matey, and served at the Colonel's 
table under Appao, the butler, and wore 
a good white suit and a crimson belt. 

by Google 

Original from 

The Character of the Polar Bear. 

Photyraphs by\ By HAROLD J. SHEP5TONE. [.)/. Obengastmr. 


SPECTACLE that is attract- 
ing more than ordinary atten- 
tion on the Continent just now 
is a company of seventy-five 
per for m i ng Po la r bears. N ow T 
to train a single specimen of 
these beautiful, snowy -white creatures of the 
Far Nonh to go through certain evolutions 
for the amusement of the public is no light 
task. All professional trainers are agreed 
that one of the most difficult beasts to train, 
and one of the most unreliable, is the Polar 
bear. To train a whole company of these 
creatures, t h e re f ore, 
and not merely a ^^^^^^^^^ 

ever placed before the public, No one, 
except those acquainted with the modern 
methods of training wild beasts, can grasp 
the enormous amount of patience and 
the disappointments encountered in getting 
together such a large number of perform- 
ing animals. Indeed, it has virtually taken 
fifteen years to collect and train this one 
group of giant white bears. Every now and 
again a valuable performing animal would 
die or get disabled in a fight with its com- 
panions, or develop a dangerous temper, and 
another beast had to be secured. Suddenly 

a bear, for no appa- 
rent reason, would 

small group, to 

perform together 

and do all kinds 

of tricks and feats, must rank as a wonderful 

and a daring accomplishment 

The individual who has succeeded in this 
great task is Mr. VVilhelm Hagenbeck, a 
brother of Mr. Carl Hagenbeck, ihe cele- 
brated animal dealer of Hamburg- His 
troupe of performing Polar bears represents 
the latest and the greatest animal exhibition 

Digitized by L?i 

refuse to perform 

with another 

member of the 

troupe, and had to be supplied with a com- 

panion with whom he would agree. 

It is quite a fascinating spectacle to 
watch the bears enter the arena. To 
the ordinary spectator the animal., look 
alike, so far as build and size are concerned, 
yet they vary in age from one to seventeen 
years. " Alrhorjjh I. know every animal in 





tire company/' said Mr; Hagenbeek, " and 
have taught each one to recognise its name, 
and have been among many of them fifteen 
years, I cannot now tell by their expressions 
the mood of the animals. This is one of 
the characteristics of the Polar bear. Their 
expression remains the same, and it is 
impossible to detect, by watching their faces, 
whether they are pleased or cross* Now in 
most wild animals, such as the lion, you can 
tell by the expression or the beast's lace and 
by its actions whether it is in a good temper 
or not. But not so with the Polar bear. 
Then one bear's head and face are exactly 
like another's, and all through their perform 
ances the expression on their faces remains 
the same. 

"In the company there are seventy-five 
bears, seventy of which are performing 
animals. The renaming five sit about, 
and at present are merely an ornament to 
the arena. By and by, however, they will 
be trained as understudies, to take the place 
of any that may fall ill or die. Some of the 
bears 1 have taught to do their tricks in a few 

Digitized by Google 

months, while others have required a couple 
of years of patient tuition, The truth is, the 
Polar bear is a most awkward beast to train, 
In the first place, his character is difficult to 
understand. He is by nature very suspicious, 
and without the least warning is apt to turn 
against his trainer. Among the seventy bears 
l hat have been taught to do tricks, only two 
of them are really fund of their work." 

Before describing the wonderful perform . 
ance given by these Polar bears, it is not 
without interest to note how they were 
originally obtained. Their trainer secured 
them from his brother, Mr Carl Hagenbeek* 
The latter obtained them from his hunters, 
who made special journeys to the far frozen 
North to hunt for these animals. They only 
took the little ones, as it is practically impos- 
sible to handle a full grown Polar bear. The 
baby bears were then placed in strong 
wooden boxes or big round casks and 
shipped to Hamburg, 

When they arrived at their destination, 
twenty-five to thirty at a time, they were 
about seven or eight months old and very 




savage. As their ultimate 
destination was the stage, the 
following course was adopted 
They were all put in a rage 
together, and on the very 
day of their arrival a 
keeper was sent into the 
cage to feed them. The 
object of this was to get 
the bears used to the 
presence of a human 
being, while it also had 
the effect of 
somewhat tam- 
ing them* In 
almost every in- 
stance they flew 
at the intruder, 
but a few pats 

A LCCk OK HJS TuMiiJtt. 

animals got so tame that 
they would crawl up to the 
man and take sugar and 
other dainties from his 
hands. The bears were then 
handed over to the train er, 
and their stage schooling 
actively commenced. 

The bears have been 
taught to form pyramids and 
groups j climb ladders, drive 
about in carriages drawn by 
ponies with monkeys as out- 
riders, draw sledges contain- 
ing their companions, 
drink out of bottles, and 
a host of other tricks. 
They perform in a speci- 
ally ■ erected arena sur- 
rounded by Polar scenery. 



The ciown in the 
company is a black 
bear, who has received 
the somewhat inappro- 
priate appellation of 
White Raven. He has 
been taught to follow 
his master about the 
arena and generally to 
act the comic as all 


from a long stick or whip always 
sent them back to their corners. 
After a few weeks they realized the 
uselessness of attacking their keeper, 
and allowed him to enter and leave 
their dens as he pleased- He then 
carried them sugar and sweet fruit, 
of which they are very fond. After 
some seven or eight months of this 
kind of treatment most of the 

Digitized byTjOOgle 





good clowns do. He loves swinging, and if 
he had his way would spend the whole of his 
time on the swings. The majority of the 
bears have been taught to drink out of bottles 
by holding them to their mouths with their 
fore feet. It is most amusing and comical to 
watch an enormous white bear, measuring 
seven feet in length, suddenly sit on a chair, 
grasp a stone bottle in his great paws, lift it 
to his mouth, and drain its contents, while the 
band plays a popular song, entitled <l Have 
Another Drink/' One of the bears, Daisy, 
is very fond of lying down on her back while 
drinking. The bears' drinks consist of sweet- 
ened water, milk, or cod-liver oil All the 
animals are fond of the former, and few of 
them object to take the latter. Indeed, some 
of them show a preference for it. A couple of 
gallons of cod-liver oil are consumed by 
the bears every week. The moment an 

bear. Standing on his hind legs he wrestles 
with his master in quite the approved fashion. 
Taking up his position in the centre of the 
mat he greets his human competitor with a 
lick of his tongue, as Monk cannot master 
the knack of shaking hands. Then the 
contest starts in real earnest, the bear doing 
his utmost to put the man on his back, 
while the trainer endeavours to prevent the 

The whole performance is very life-like, 
Monk appearing to put his heart into it, 
every now and again giving an ominous 
growl as he endeavours to get a good grip of 
his companion 
with his huge 
paws. To and 
fro the strange 


animal shows signs of a cough it is at 
once induced to take cod-liver oil, and 
this generally has the desired effect On 
one occasion the trainer forgot to put the 
sweetened water into the bottle which he 
handed to Daisy. The bear tipped the 
battle up once or twice, and when she dis- 
covered there was nothing in it she was so 
angry that she threw the receptacle at the 
trainers head. Fortunately, it missed him 
and smashed into a hundred pieces on the 

The star of the company is Monk, the 
wrestling Polar, and the trainer's favourite 

Digitized by GoOQle 

combatants sway until one manages to 
break away. In an instant they are at it 
again. This time Monk has got his com- 
panion round the waist, the trainer's arm 
being thrown round the bear's neck. Monk 
opens his great mouth and snarls, and to the 
onlooker things begin to look dangerous. 
But Monk knows the rules, and never bites. 
At the same time he has a knack of digging 
his claws rather deeply into one's clothes, 
and to prevent scratches Mr. Hagenbeck 
wears a very thick leather waistcoat. Even 
with this stout garment on he get* an occa- 
sional scratch. Monk turns the scale at 
Original from 




nearly a ton, and, as weight frequently tells 
in wrestling, the bear often gets the first 
throw. Hut a throw is not a victory, and on 
the mat the combatants push and shove until 
the shoulders of one touch the ground. 

But the most interesting and amusing feat, 
and one that never fails to call for much 
applause, is the manner in which the bears 
have been taught to u shoot the chute." 
The animals climb up an inclined plane until 
they reach a platform some sixty feet above 
the ground. Immediately in front of them 
is the chute, and, to tell the truth, the bears 
do not care much about venturing on it, 
Once on the chute there is no coming back, 
and it is certainly very comical to watch them 
slide down into the tank of water below. 

Some grasp the side of the chute and 
endeavour to cling there, only to lose their 
hold when a companion thunders up against 
them from above* Some reach the water by 
sliding down backwards, others go head first, 
others sideways, and, indeed, in every con- 
ceivable position and attitude. It takes 
nearly twenty minutes for the whole of the 
bears to reach their destination, one or more 
animals. being on the chute the whole of this 
time. Some go down quickly, while others 
spread themselves right across the course, and 

only reach the bottom after a more or less 
lengthy period. Once in the water, however, 
the animals are instantly at home. 

Mr. Wilhelm Hagmbeck has had twenty- 
five years' experience as an animal trainer 
It was in 1898 that he first performed in 
public with a group of twelve Polar l>cars* 
They were assisted in their work by one 
pony and two dogs. In 1900 the group was 
enlarged to fifteen bears, and since that time 
has been gradually added to, until now there 
is a company numbering seventy-five in all. 

The novelty of the whole performance, of 
course, is the spectacle of such a great crowd 
of these giant white creatures of the Far 
North. To have trained them to perform 
unanimously together is a feat any man might 
well be proud of. As already stated, it repre- 
sents some fifteen years of patient work, not 
to mention great expense and a series of 
terrible disappointments* True, performing 
Polar bears have been seen on the stage for 
some years past, but never in anything like so 
large a number. History records the fact 
that, when Queen Elizabeth went in State 
through Spitallields in 1599 with a glittering 
escort of a thousand men-at-arms, a "feature" 
of the procession that interested the populace 
was a cart in which were two Polar bears, 



by Lit 




WING possibly to the un- 
accustomed exercise, but prob- 
ably to more sentimental 
reasons, Robert Vyner slept 
but poorly the night after his 
labours, He had explained 
his absence at the dinner- table by an airy 
reference to a long walk and a disquisition 
on the charms of the river by evening, an 
explanation which both Mr, Vyner and his 
wife had received with the silence it merited, 
It was evident that his absence had been the 
subject of some comment, but his father 
made no reference to it as they smoked a 
cigar together before retiring. 

He awoke early in the morning and, after 
a vain attempt to get to sleep again, rase and 
dressed. Nobody else was stirring, and 
going quietly downstairs he took up a cap 
and went out. 

Except for a labouring man or two tramp- 
ing stolidly to work, the streets were deserted. 
The craft anchored in the river seemed asleep, 
and he stood for some time on the bridge 
idly watching the incoming tide. He lit his 
pipe and then, with a feeble endeavour* to 
feel a little surprise at the fact, discovered 
that he was walking in the direction of Mr, 
Hartley's house. 

Copyright, 1908, by W. W. Jacobs, 

_ Digit Google 

His pace slackened as he neared it, and 
he went by gazing furtively at the drawn 
blinds of the front windows- A feeling of 
regret that Joan Hartley should be missing 
such a delightful morning would not be 
denied ; in imagination he saw himself 
strolling by her side and pointing out to 
her the beauties of the most unfrequented 
portions of the river bank. A sudden super- 
stitious trust in fate — caught possibly from 
Captain Trimblett — made him turn and walk 
slowly past the house again* With an idea 
of giving fate another chance he repeated 
the performance. In all he passed eight 
times, and was about to enter upon the ninth, 
when he happened to look across the road 
and saw, to his annoyance, the small figure 
of Bassett speeding towards him. 

" He is not down yet, sir/ said Bassett, 

Mr. Vyner suppressed his choler by an 

4 'Oh! "he said, stiffly. "Well?" 

Bassett drew back in confusion, ** I — I 
saw you walk up and down several times 
looking at the house, sir, and I thought it my 
duty to come and tell you/ 1 he replied. 

Mr. Vyner regarded him steadfastly. 
" Thank you/' he said, at last. " And how 
is it that you are out at such an early hour, 

in the United St*t« qf ft ftefj^ | f mm 



33 1 

prowling about like a raging lion looking for 
its breakfast ? " 

" I wasn't, sir," said Bassett ; " I shall have 
my breakfast when I get home, at eight 
o'clock. I always get up at six ; then I make 
sure of two hours in the fresh air." 

" And what time do you close your eyes on 
the world and its vanities ? " inquired Mr. 
Vyner, with an appearance of great interest. 

" I always go to bed as the clock strikes 
ten, sir," said the youth. 

" And suppose— suppose the clock should 
be wrong one day?" suggested the other, 
" would you apprehend any lasting injury to 
your constitution ? " 

"It couldn't be, sir," said Bassett ; U I 
wind it myself." 

Mr. Vyner regarded him more thought- 
fully than before. " I can foresee," he said, 
slowly, "that you will grow up a great and 
good and wise man, unless " 

" Yes, sir," said Bassett, anxiously. 

" Unless something kills you in the mean- 
time," concluded Mr. Vyner. "It is not 
fair to tempt people beyond their strength, 
Bassett. Even a verdict of 'Justifiable 
homicide ' might not quite ease the slayer's 

" No, sir," said the perplexed youth. 

Mr. Vyner suddenly dropped his bantering 

"How was it I didn't see you?" he 
demanded, sternly. 

" I don't think you looked my side of the 
road, sir," said Bassett. "You were watch- 
ing Mr. Hartley's windows all the time ; and, 
besides, I was behind that hedge." 

He pointed to a well-trimmed privet-hedge 
in a front garden opposite. 

" Behind the hedge ? " repeated the other, 
sharply. " What were you there for ? " 

" Watching a snail, sir," replied Bassett. 

" A what ? " inquired Mr. Vyner, raising 
his voice. 

" A snail, sir," repeated the youth. " I've 
got a book on natural history, and I've just 
been reading about them. I saw this one as 
I was passing, and I went inside to study its 
habits. They are very interesting little things 
to watch — very." 

Fortified by the approval of a conscience 
that never found fault, he met the search- 
light gaze that the junior partner turned upon 
him without flinching. Quite calm, although 
somewhat puzzled by the other's manner, he 
stood awaiting his pleasure. 

" Yes," said Robert Vyner, at last ; " very 
interesting indeed, I should think ; but you 
have forgotten one thing, Bassett. When 

secreted behind a hedge watching one of 
these diverting little — er " 

" Gasteropodous molluscs, sir," interjected 
Bassett, respectfully. 

" Exactly," said the other. "Just the word 
I was trying to think of. When behind a 
hedge watching them it is always advisable 
to whistle as loudly and as clearly as you can." 

" I never heard that, sir," said Bassett, 
more and more perplexed. " It's not in my 
book, but I remember once reading, when I 
was at school, that spiders are sometimes 
attracted by a flute." 

"A flute would do," said Mr. Vyner, still 
watching him closely ; " but a cornet would 
be better still. Good morning." 

He left Bassett gazing after him round- 
eyed, and, carefully refraining from looking 
at Hartley's windows, walked on at a smart 
pace. As he walked he began to wish that he 
had not talked so much ; a vision of Bassett 
retailing the conversation of the morning 
to longer heads than his own in the office 
recurring to him with tiresome persistency. 
And, on the other hand, he regretted that 
he had not crossed the road and made sure 
that there was a snail. 

Busy with his thoughts he tramped on 
mechanically, until, pausing on a piece of 
high ground to admire the view, he was sur- 
prised to see that the town lay so far behind. 
At the same time sudden urgent promptings 
from within bore eloquent testimony to the 
virtues of early rising and exercise as aids to 
appetite. With ready obedience he began 
to retrace his steps. 

The business of the day was just beginning 
as he entered the outskirts of the town again. 
Blinds were drawn aside and maid-servants 
busy at front doors. By the time he drew 
near Laurel Lodge— the name was the choice 
of a former tenant — the work of the day had 
begun in real earnest. Instinctively slacken- 
ing his pace, he went by the house with his 
eyes fastened on the hedge opposite, being 
so intent on what might, perhaps, be de- 
scribed as a visual alibi for Bassett's benefit, 
in case the lad still happened to be there, 
that he almost failed to notice that Hartley 
was busy in his front garden and that Joan 
was standing by him. He stopped short and 
bade them "Good morning." 

Mr. Hartley dropped his tools and 
hastened to the gate. " Good morning," he 
said, nervously ; " I hope that there is 
nothing wrong. I went a little way to try 
and find you." 

" Find me?" echoed Mr. Vyner, reddening, 
as a suspicion of the truth occurred to him. 

by LiOOgle 

u I I I ■_' I I I 




" Bassett told me that you had been walk- 
ing up and down waiting to see me," con- 
tinued Hartley. " I dressed as fast as I 
could, but by that time you were out of 

Facial contortions, in sympathy with the 
epithets he was mentally heaping upon the 
head of Bassett, disturbed for a moment the 
serenity of Mr. Vyner's countenance. A 
rapid glance at Miss Hartley helped him to 
regain his composure. 

" I don't know why the boy should have 
been so officious," he said, slowly ; " I didn't 
want to see you. I certainly passed the 
house on my way. Oh, yes, and then I 
thought of going back — I did go a little way 
back — then I altered my mind again. I 
suppose I must have passed three times." 

" I was afraid there was something wrong," 
said Hartley. " I am very glad it is all right. 
I'll give that lad a talking to. He knocked 
us all up and said that you had been walking 
up and down for twenty-three minutes." 

The generous colour in Mr. Vyner's cheeks 
was suddenly reflected in Miss Hartley's. 
Their eyes met, and, feeling exceedingly 
foolish, he resolved to put a bold face on the 

" Bassett is unendurable," he said, with a 
faint laugh, "and I suspect his watch. Still, 
I must admit that I did look out for you, 
because I thought if you were stirring I should 
like to come in and see what sort of a mess 
I made last night. Was it very bad ? " 

" N-no," said Hartley ; " no ; it perhaps 
requires a little attention. Half an hour or 
so will put it right." 

"I should like to see my handiwork by 
daylight," said Robert 

Hartley opened the garden-gate and 
admitted him, and all three passing down the 
garden stood gravely inspecting the previous 
night's performance. It is to be recorded to 
Mr. Vyner's credit that he coughed dis- 
paragingly as he eyed it. 

" Father says that they only want taking 
up and replanting," said Joan, softly, "and 
the footmarks raked over, and the mould 
cleared away from the path. Except for that 
your assistance was invaluable." 

" I — I didn't quite say that," said Hartley, 

"You ougjit to have, then," said Robert, 
severely. " I had no idea it was so bad. 
You'll have to give me some lessons and see 
whether I do better next time. Or perhaps 
Miss Hartley will ; she seems to be all right, 
so far as the theory of the thing goes." 

Hartley smiled uneasily, and to avoid 

Digitized by dCK' 

replying moved off a little way and became 
busy over a rose-bush. 

"Will you?" inquired Mr. Vyner, very 
softly. " I believe that I could learn better 
from you than from anybody ; I should 
take more interest in the work. One wants 
sympathy from a teacher." 

Miss Hartley shook her head. "You had 
better try a three months' course at Dale's 
Nurseries," she said, with a smile. "You 
would get more sympathy from them than 
from me." 

" I would sooner learn from you," persisted 

" I could teach you all I know in half an 
hour," said the girl. 

Mr. Vyner drew a little nearer to her. 
"You overestimate my powers," he said, in 
a low voice. " You have no idea how dull I 
can be ; I am sure it would take at least six 

"That settles it, then," said Joan. "I 
shouldn't like a dull pupil." 

Mr. Vyner drew a little nearer still. "Per- 
haps — perhaps l dull ' isn't quite the word," he 
said, musingly. 

" It's not the word I should " began 

Joan, and stopped suddenly. 

"Thank you," murmured Mr. Vyner. 
"It's nice to be understood. What word 
would you use ? " 

Miss Hartley, apparently interested in her 
father's movements, made no reply. 

" Painstaking ? " suggested Mr. Vyner ; 
" assiduous ? attentive ? devoted ? " 

Miss Hartley, walking towards the house, 
affected not to hear. A fragrant smell of 
coffee, delicately blended with the odour of 
grilled bacon, came from the open door and 
turned his thoughts to more mundane things. 
Mr. Hartley joined them just as the figure of 
Rosa appeared at the door. "Breakfast is 
quite ready, miss," she announced. 

She stood looking at them, and Mr. Vyner 
noticed an odd, strained appearance about 
her left eye which he attributed to a cast. A 
closer inspection made him almost certain 
that she was doing her best to wink. 

" I laid for three, miss," she said, with 
great simplicity. " You didn't say whether 
the gentleman was going to stop or not ; and 
there's no harm done if he don't." 

Mr. Hartley started, and in a confused 
fashion murmured something that sounded 
like an invitation ; Mr. Vyner, in return 
murmuring something about " goodness " 
and " not troubling them," promptly followed 
Joan through the French windows of the 
small dining-room. 

Original from 





" It's awfully kind of you," he said, 
heartily, as he seated himself opposite his 
host ; " as a matter of fact I'm half 

He made a breakfast which bore ample 
witness to the truth of his statement ; a meal 
with long intervals of conversation. To 
Hartley, who usually breakfasted in a quarter 
of an hour, and was anxious to start tor the 

" Fm afraid Tin delaying things, " re- 
marked Mr, Vyner, looking after him 

Miss Hartley said, " Not at all," and, as a 
mere piece of convention, considering that 
he had already had four cups, offered 
him some more coffee, To her surprise 
he at once passed his cup up. She looked 
at the coffee pot and for a moment thought 
enviously of the widow's 

u Only a little, please," 
he said, 
i toast." 

"I want it for 


office, it became tedious in the extreme, and 
his eyes repeatedly sought the clock. He 
almost sighed with relief as the visitor took 
the last piece of toast in the rack, only to be 
plunged again into depression as his daughter 
rang the bell for more. Unable to endure 
it any longer he rose and, murmuring some- 
thing about getting ready, quitted the 

by Google 

"A toast?" said the girl. 

Mr, Vyner noddi-d mysteriously. " It is a 
solemn duty ," he said, impressively, "and I 
want you to drink it with me. Are you 
ready ? ( Bassett, the best of boys ! J 

Joan Hartley, looking rather puzzled, 
laughed, and put the cup to her lips. Robert 
Vyner put his cup down and regarded her 

Original from 




" Do you know why we drank his health?" 
he inquired. 

" No." 

"Because," said Robert, pausing for a 
moment to steady his voice, "because, if it 
hadn't been for his officiousness, I should 
not be sitting here with you." 

He leaned towards her. " Do you wish 
that you had not drunk it ? " he asked. 

Joan Hartley raised her eyes and looked 
at him so gravely that the mischief, with 
which he was trying to disguise his nervous- 
ness, died out of his face and left it as 
serious as her own. For a moment her eyes, 
clear and truthful, met his. 

" No," she said, in a low voice. 

And at that moment Rosa burst into the 
room with two pieces of scorched bread and 
placed them upon the table. Unasked, she 
proffered evidence on her own behalf, and 
with great relish divided the blame between 
the coal merchant, the baker, and the stove. 
Mr. Hartley entered the room before she 
had done herself full justice, and Vyner, 
obeying a glance from Joan, rose to depart. 

Mr. Vvner spent the remainder of the 
morning in a state of dreamy exaltation. 
He leaned back in his chair devising plans 
for a future in which care and sorrow bore 
no part, and neglected the pile of work on 
his table in favour of writing the name "Joan 
Vyner " on pieces of paper, which he after- 
wards burnt in the grate. At intervals he 
jumped up and went to the window, in the 
faint hope that Joan might be passing, and 
once, in the highest of high spirits, vaulted 
over his table. Removing ink from his 
carpet afterwards by means of blotting-paper 
was only an agreeable diversion. 

By midday his mood had changed to one 
of extreme tenderness and humility, and he 
began to entertain unusual misgivings as to 
his worthiness. He went home to lunch 
depressed by a sense of his shortcomings ; 
but, on his return, his soaring spirits got the 
better of him again. Filled with a vast charity, 
his bosom overflowing with love for all man- 
kind, he looked about to see whom he could 
benefit ; and Basset t entering the room at 
that moment was sacrificed without delay. 
Robert Vyner was ashamed to think that he 
should have left the lad's valuable services